One more week.

Just one. I kept telling myself that.

One week, and it would be a complete year from that unforgettable Witch/Ghost Moon Day a.k.a Marra's last ‘second’ birthday.

He was going to turn thirteen. He was going to become a teenager.

Now Marra only celebrates one birthday, the one of his actual birth, stillborn or not. He believes celebrating the day that Grahi Witch resuscitated him is a disrespect to his parents. I agree.

Aar says he’s okay with Marra's decision as long as he still gets two cakes.

(I agree with that, too.)

I hadn’t been to {Undisclosed} in over two months now. Hadn’t seen my friends. So you can imagine I was reasonably pumped for the weekend I was going to spend back there in Mr. Om's gothic mansion.

See was no less excited. He’s a very smart doggo, and he seemed to have grown smarter still ever since (spirit) Es had given him the ephemeral ability to talk. He had also managed to save Marra's life, and therefore ours, indirectly. When I informed him of the good news, his tail started wagging faster than I’d seen it wag in forever and even he befriended Toby. You know, sat in front of him, ate a couple of his leaves.

School became a little more tolerable knowing I was going to have two full days with my amazeballs, core friends. Apparently Aar had grown adept at Paracord Rock slinging, so that was something to look forward to. Apparently Niffy was a breathtaking constructor – she liked to design and build things, like an engineer or a carpenter – and had made a wooden chessboard for Es all by herself. Meh.

I had grown too apathetic towards Garbo's antics for them to bother me. The other day she had kept a squeaky horn on my chair which, obviously, squeaked when I sat on it, and the whole class burst into uncontrollable laughter while I sat there smiling and reading a memoir about this man who had ostensibly triumphed at creating his own doppelganger.

Yes. I am what many consider to be the definition of a pro.

Days were going by a lot slower than they usually did here in the city, possibly because I wanted to skip them and dive into the weekend as the crow flies.

As the great Albert Einstein said, and I quote: 'When you are dating a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That’s relatively.’

Sorry, I geek out sometimes.

Okay, okay. I geek out a lot of the times.

Anyway, skipping those intermediary days would have been for the better, because without what happened on the day right before the weekend I was supposed to leave for {Undisclosed}, I would not have ended up here.

Yes, yes, I’m going to tell you, there’s no way around it. Give me a second.

[Long pause].

That was more than a second, granted, but I’m ready to share that afternoon now. I think. Well, ready as I’ll ever be, which is not a good degree of ready.

Garbo had put a fake roach in my sandwich during lunch break, that I remember distinctly. And although I had been scared, I hadn’t given her the reaction she had likely been hoping for. I’d just chucked it away and chomped at my 'wich.

(The 'sand' in sandwich again reminds me of the dismaying banana, so.)

Really, did Garbo not understand, despite her high grades, that I could possibly choke and die on that sad piece of plastic? Did she not understand what the word human means?

Whatever, I was too happy to get caught up in that train of thought. That’s right, I said 'train.’ It’s much better than saying 'chain' of thoughts. Chains are rigid; thoughts are not.

So I was walking to my apartment from school. Practically hopping, if we’re being honest. Chanting the tune Marra had made impromptu last Christmas without even realizing that I was. I was so happy. So, so happy.
I miss that. That was probably the last time I’ve been happy.

I was passing the quaint alley I’ve mentioned a few times before, and once again, I felt myself pulled by it. On one hand I wanted to reach home as soon as humanly possible and pack my bag and play with See and talk to Toby about the prospect of the upcoming two days.

On the other I was hearing a voice – the alley's voice – beckoning to me. Pleading me to visit. Of course, the voice wasn’t real and I knew it . . . but it sounded real enough in my head that I stopped in my hopping tracks like a perplexed rabbit and stared into its bleak opening.

Bee, said the voice. Garbo's been giving you trouble again, hasn’t she?

Yes, but it didn’t really bother me –

Remember when she lied to Mr. [What’s-My-Name] and he made you run three extra laps?

My jaw tightened. I did remember. I had afterwards went into the alley and beat the –

The time she made sure [] wouldn’t befriend you? The time she trashed your project? Got you into detention?

My hands balled into fists, but I started to hop away, when –

Last time, said the alley. Last time you shall come in here, and everything will be alright after that. Niffy . . . she’ll move in with the rock-n-rollers next door, and Momma will be posted back in {Undisclosed} and your friends will be yours again –

I entered the alleyway. Probably the biggest mistake of my life.

Actually, you know what? Scratch the ‘probably’.

shiz about to get real

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