Waiting for a Sign

Alannah here.

Keeper of secrets since the summer of 1998 when I made the worst decision of my life. The defining moment, the collapse of my potential. Everything that could have been, my bright future; dissolved… in just a matter of minutes.

I’m forty now and it’s time to unburden myself. I know I’m going to jail and I’ve come to terms with it. What I’m not ready for is the media circus, the scrutiny, judgement, hatred, but mostly the guilt. I won’t be alone – my accomplices will also be implicated. Won’t they be surprised?

I’m almost ready. I’m waiting for a sign. For now, I’ll just stay here on the chair I carved from the stump that is the only marker to Marcy’s grave. I’ve come here every day for twenty-three years. Every day. I’ve never left our small, dying town. Never ventured so far away as the closest city. Never been on a plane, train, bus. Never learned to drive. Never got married. That one incident froze me in time for eternity. I still live in my parents’ house; in my childhood room. I still sleep in my pink canopy bed.

Dad passed away last month and now I am alone. I have no reason to go on, so as soon as I see that sign, I’m going to turn myself in – and I’m taking Helen and Christa down with me.

We used to be so tight knit, the four of us. We had been friends since infancy and did everything together. We all worked at the Ice Cream Shoppe and everyone in Willowville knew us.

That Sunday afternoon in late July, we convened at our favourite picnic spot, right here where I contemplate my life today. Helen showed up in her uniform – she had just come from work. The rest of us were spread out on a blanket by the river, our special spot, a ten-minute hike through the woods from my backyard. No one else ever comes here. We had it decorated with fun things we discovered throughout the years – dolls, ornaments, Christmassy things, magazine photos of Matt Damon and Wesley Snipes. It was a teenage girls’ oasis.

Marcy, Christa and I were in our bikinis, tanning; trying to beautify ourselves for college in a few weeks. Soaking up our last vestiges of youth before moving on to bigger, bolder and better lives.

“I brought booze, bitches!” Helen was casting a shadow over us.

“Move it, Hel,” Marcy barked. “I’m going to be uneven,” Oh, to think that this was our biggest worry in that instant. We were nothing but stupid children.

Helen popped the cork on the six-dollar champagne she was so proud of and pulled four Dixie cups out of her apron. “To the rest of our lives,” she toasted.

“To the rest of our lives,“ Christa and I repeated in unison. Marcy was silent.

“Marce? Why aren’t you drinking?” It wasn’t like her.

“’Cause she’s too fat,” Helen burst out, laughing at her own supposed hilarity. Christa giggled right along, although insincere. She has always been Helen’s shadow, following along, repeating, obeying; like a good little trained puppy. Marcy started wailing. Not just tears, but lost breath, runny nose, loud ugly crying.

“She didn’t mean it,” I try to console her.

“Like Hell, I didn’t! Look at her. She’s gained at least fifteen pounds this month! Fatty, fatty two by four- Couldn’t get through the kitchen door!” she sang. I couldn’t wait to get out of here – get away from these people. Become an adult.

“I’M PREGNANT!” Marcy jumped to her feet and screamed, spittle spraying Helen in the face.

I stood up, too, and hugged my friend. I took her hand in mine. “We’ll get through this together,” I tell her. And I meant it.

Helen was enraged. Her face was red, a vein in her temple pulsing. Her hands in fists. “Who…. is…. the…. father?” She demanded.

We were all afraid of Helen. She could be a good friend, but she had an unpredictable evil streak if you got on her bad side. She once told the principal of our high school that our math teacher, Mr. Sweeney, offered to have sex with her. The true story was that she had a crush on him – one that he didn’t reciprocate. She made a move, he turned her down. She decided to ruin his life. That is just who she was – who she is.

“S..S..Scott,” Marcy whispered. Fuck. Helen had her eyes on Scott since the seventh grade. He never once gave her the time of day, even though she showed up to all of his football games, actually followed him into the change room a few times, and always slipped him free ice cream.

I was still holding Marcy’s hand, which she was now clutching in a death grip. Christa and I made eye contact – trying to speak to each other telepathically, but I could tell we were going to be taking opposite sides.

“Helen, let’s talk about this,” my rational side was trying to come out.

“There’s nothing to discuss. You’re dead, bitch. Enjoy your last breaths, because you’re fucking DEAD!”

Marcy took off toward the river. She was in her bare feet so the woods weren’t even an option. Helen was hot on her heels, wearing running shoes and hanging on to that champagne bottle like a bat.

Christa and I stood, watching in horror as Helen caught up to her. Before we could even move, the loud crunch of bottle smashing skull sucked all of the air out of the universe. Marcy toppled forward, swallowed by the current and was stolen by the river. We could see the blue of her bathing suit bobbing as it moved farther away.

“WHAT ARE YOU JUST STANDING AROUND FOR??? HELP ME GET HER!” Helen was screaming! We were frozen, unbelieving of what our eyes had witnessed. Marcy was long gone.

“I’m calling the police,” was all I could say.

“I don’t think so,” Helen grabbed my elbow. “We ALL did this. We will ALL go to jail. Right, Christa?” Silence. “RIGHT, CHRISTA?” I didn’t even recognize her voice anymore.

I kept my silence for these past twenty-three years. Marcy’s body was never found, but I made her makeshift gravesite in the woods behind my house where the four of us used to be kids, until Helen forced us to become felons, and the other two never set foot here since.

Willowville has a population of 1823 people. We have three stop signs and no traffic lights. Tourists say it’s like stepping back in time. I told myself this morning that as soon as I see a green light, I will take it as a sign to make my confession. I wandered from room to room in my house checking the LEDs on every device, charger, smoke detector – everything. They were all red or blue. Not a green light in sight. I am letting the universe determine my future.

My life stalled in 1998. I still sell ice cream for a living. Helen and Christa moved to the city. They check in on me often, though. Not because the love or miss me, but because they don’t trust me; the only one with a conscience.

Helen got married and had a baby not long after the incident. She never ended up going to college. It didn’t take long for her husband to realize that she was unstable; dangerous. He was worried about his daughter and he disappeared in the middle of the night, baby in hand. He went to court to try and get custody, but Helen doesn’t fight fair.

She claimed that she left him because he was harming her; she was worried for her life. The court sided with her and gave her full custody. That is when she got really vindictive, and made his life as miserable as humanly possible. She charged him with all sorts of crimes; breaking into her home, stealing her car, stalking and following her everywhere. He became a pariah because Helen was the world’s most talented pathological liar. He killed himself – but not before he changed his will, leaving everything to his mother. She didn’t blink an eye.

She married again, not long after. She had to, or get a job which wasn’t her style at all. She had quit the Ice Cream Shoppe the day after throwing Marcy into the river and never worked another day in her life. She always has money, though, because she is constantly suing one company or another. She really should have put all of this effort into becoming a lawyer – she certainly knows which rules and laws she can skirt around.

Her second husband left, too, recently. He has a great government job that comes with lifetime benefits and pension. It would have been ideal for her had she been able to convince him to stay. A plan was brewing in her head, though, and last night she called Christa and I for an emergency meeting. I’m making them come to me. I don’t travel for anyone – I refuse to leave Marcy’s memorial. I know they’re waiting at my house right now, so force myself to head back there and face whatever music they are planning on raining down on me.

“It’s been a while,” Helen starts the conversation. I hadn’t seen her for a few years, but she made sure we always knew how to find each other. I was surprised to see how she’s let herself go. She’d stopped dying her hair and the grey roots were about two inches long, morphing into a few shades of poorly home dyed red. Her teeth were rotting, brown and black zig zag sticks where her smile used to be. She hadn’t waxed her brows or upper lip in way too long. She looked like Hell.

Christa got fat. She had five kids and an ex-husband who didn’t pay any child support. The meek attract jerks who can spot spinelessness a mile away. She’s still Helen’s puppet.

“I wanted to meet with you both because I know I can tell you anything. We have a secret that binds us, meaning that all of our secrets are safe. If any one of us goes down, we will all go down. Agreed?” Christa is nodding vigorously, like a child eager to please a teacher. I stay silent, waiting for her to continue.

“You know James is gone,“ she continues. Good for James, smart man. “Well, when Henry died, he made sure I didn’t get anything,” Bravo, Henry! “It will be different this time.” What? James is alive! What is she planning?

“James is going to kill himself, and I’m going to reap his pension. You two are going to help me – before he has a chance to change anything.”

Disbelief consumes me, but I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be surprised.

Helen’s phone is on the coffee table and starts ringing. It startles me, drawing my eyes to the incoming call. Unknown number. Each long ring is accompanied by a vibrating green light. It’s my sign.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

She does. She doesn’t speak, just listens, then drops the phone to the floor and opens the front door.

Standing there is a well-dressed woman and two police officers. I hadn’t even made the call, but I was ready. The universe was aligning because we were all in one place. It was Karma.

“Long time, no see, bitches,” the woman said.

Oh my God! It was Marcy. “That one,” she told the officers, pointing at Helen.

The cops dragged Helen out, kicking and screaming. Christa, the lap dog, followed behind. I stood still, wondering if I could believe what was happening.

“You’re okay now,” she told me. “You’ll be okay.”

We embraced for what felt like hours. “I’m so sorry,” I wept.

“I know.”