Ether (4 page)

There’s
a pause, in which I struggle to answer but only a gurgling sound comes out of
my lips. I’m still rigid with fear and cold.

A
hand wraps around mine and pulls me away. “Becka? Are you alright? You’re safe
with me. We’re at school. Do you remember?” Matt leads me out of the woods. I
walk next to him mechanically and with every step we take, I feel a little
better.

The
next thing I know Matt is leading away from the football field. Still in his
football uniform he helps me into his car, buckles my seat belt and starts the
car. He turns the heat up, setting the blower to full, blasting hot air right
onto my face. Slowly, the numbness drops away and I shake myself out of the
daze. “Feeling better?” Matt asks when I look around and met his eyes.

I
nod, grateful it’s Matt and not Justin right now. Matt will assumed I’ve had
another flashback, he certainly saw enough of them those first few weeks in the
hospital, but Justin would have wanted to talk about it. I hated that even when
it was a real flashback, but this time I don’t know what happened. All I’m
really sure of is that something strange, something unnatural, attacked me. I can’t
exactly tell that to Matt.

Matt
lets the car idle in front of my house. “I don’t think you should be alone too
much right now,” he says.

“It’s
okay. My mom will be home soon, until then I’ve got Buick. I’ll be fine, really
Matt. Thanks for the lift and the rescue.”

He
nods. “Just call me if there’s anything you need,” he says, sounding more
serious than I’ve ever heard him before.

I
give him a non-committal smile. There’s plenty I want to talk about; like the
fact that something just tried to slither inside me, or that I’m communicating
with a disembodied spirit
.
But neither of these things are exactly
Matt’s area of expertise.

I
drop my bag by the front door, ruffle Buick’s ears and headed straight for the
shower. Waiting for steam to fill the room, I perch on the edge of the counter.
As soon as the mirror has droplets on it, I trace the words that have been on
my mind since the accident, “Who are you? What are you?”

            There is a
short pause, but I feel him close by,
A friend,
he writes at last.

            “But what are
you? Where are you?”

           
I’m here
with you.
The steam fills in before I can demand more answers.
I care
about you.

           
Which
only confuses me more. In my dreams I am drawn to him on an elemental level,
like every part of me is pulling towards him. In the real world his messages
fill me with eagerness, interest, and curiosity. I want him to care about me
and that scares me. I didn’t even know what he is. “I need to know,” I say
aloud.

           
Tonight
,
he writes. And then, even though the hot water is still running, the steam in
the bathroom clears.

*          *          *

We are standing on the
crest of a rolling green mountain. Below us wild grasses sway. The mountain air
carries the sweet smell of wildflowers mixed with a sharp, cool crispness. In
the distance, a chain of mountains all shaded in muted purples, blues and
greens stretch into the horizon. From this height the mountains look as soft as
velvet except where they are dotted with the bristles of small fir trees. The
clouds moving overhead create a patchwork of light and shadow, bright and dim
over the mountains. Everything in this place seems sharply vivid. I sense
his
nearness and, tearing my gaze away from the view, I met his bright eyes. The
breeze is playing with his hair, mussing it. He’s wearing a dark button down
shirt and pants which the wind catches, sending them clutching against his
body. I can see muscles and a firm waist outlined against his clothes. I look
down at my own clothes and realize I am only in my thin green pyjama set. I
shiver, goose bumps appearing on my arms as soon as I realize how flimsy my
clothing is.

He
takes my hand. The instant our fingers touched I feel a sun warmed peace. My
shivering stops. “Good evening Becks.”

“This
place is amazing,” I whisper, “Where are we?”

“These
are the Precious Lands,” He says, sweeping his free arm wide. His voice is
reverent as he speaks and his eyes are far away.

His
answer tells me nothing, “But
where
are we? Are we in a dream or is this
a real place?”

He
smiles at me and I feel the floating calm of dreaming wrap around me. “You’re
very curious. I like that. This is a real place. In your terms, this land
exists somewhere between Washington and Oregon. It’s one of the few places that
still exist in both our worlds. The barrier between worlds is thinnest in the
purest of places. In your world the perfection of the ethereal plane creates a
paradise. In the ethereal world, the colours, the sounds, the details are
beyond description. These between places allow us to be with each other
effortlessly.” 

“Washington
and Oregon?” I repeat numbly. Looking at him, it’s hard to concentrate. The
sense of blissful contentedness that makes questions seem irrelevant is slowly
filling me. The mountains, his warm touch, the sweet sound of his voice, are
breaking up into beautiful sensations without meaning.

He
squeezes my hand lightly, “Becks, it’s hard to think clearly in a dream. Your
mind fades so quickly into emotion and sensation, but it’s the only way we can
talk right now.”

I
shake my head, trying to focus my attention on him, as if I am nodding off in
class. I take a step away from his warmth, slipping my fingers out of his as I
do so. Immediately, the world becomes paler and indistinct, more like an
impression than a real place. 

He
continues speaking, “You remember when we met?” I nod, “I saw you in the Ether.
That’s the white place between worlds, between life and death, my home. You
were so alive, so bright and vivid. I’ve never experienced anything like you
before. You were sparkling with life and energy, you still are. But it was
flowing away from you so quickly…” His voice grows softer as he speaks so I
have to lean closer to hear the last words. His face is bleak as he turns to
me.

“You
brought me back to life?” I guess. I can’t quite understand the grief in his
eyes. I am alive and he saved me. How could that be bad?

“Becks,”
he says imploringly, “you weren’t near death. You
were
dead.
I
couldn’t just send you back, there was no way. I did the only thing I could
think of to save you; I gave you my life energy.” His voice cracks. He clears
his throat, murmuring the last words, “I’m sorry.” 

Nervous,
I half laugh, “it’s okay. You saved me. Thank you.” Released from his gaze and
no longer touching him the mountain air is sending chills down my body.
Trembling with cold, I reach out to him. He looks up, startled, when my hand
touches his arm. “You were going to tell me your name?”

“You’re
not angry?” he seems incredulous.

“Why
would I be?” I ask lightly, without giving it any thought. I have a lot left to
live for. There is nothing that would make death from a traffic accident better
than the alternative.

“Because
we’re bound together now. I can’t ever be apart from you and you can’t ever be
apart from me. We’re one. I wish I could have asked you, given you a choice.”

Some
distant part of me registers the implications of what he is saying but most of
me is basking in his beauty and warmth and earnest goodness. I give him a
little shove, “You think I’d rather be dead?”

He
looks at me with amazement, a tiny curve tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I
guess not.”

“Definitely
not! Lifelong haunting by gorgeous hero beats out brains splattered on concrete
any day. So what do I call you?”

He
smiles a warm, soft smile that makes my knees weak and my stomach squeeze in
the best possible way. “Ephraim.” The dream goes on into beautiful valleys and
flowering plateaus. We see crystalline rivers and shy animals but the vivid
clarity of our conversation is gone. Anything he might have said after his name
was lost in the perfect joy of the dream.

*          *          *

I wake with his name on
my lips,
Ephraim.
My personal spectre’s name is Ephraim. I lay in bed relishing
my dream of him until my alarm clock goes off for the third time. I groan and
haul myself out of bed, but the smile never leaves my lips. I hold onto the euphoria
all through my morning rituals and down to breakfast.

My
mom, perfectly made up and dressed in a sharp black suit, smiles when I twirl
into the room. “Two cheerful days in a row Rebecca?” she says, but her tone is
gentler than usual. For once I recognize an emotion on her face, it was the
same look she had when the school granted me a bursary; relief. Has it really
been so long since I’ve been happy?

I
shoot her a jovial grin, “and why shouldn’t I be? I’m on the mend, catching up
in school, I’ve got great friends and a Mom who’s so cool she’s going to lend
me the credit card for some shopping today?”   

She
pulls her small black wallet out of her purse and makes a show of slowly
handing me her card, “I hope I don’t have to remind you about responsible
choices,” she says as she hands out the card to me.

With
exceptionally bad timing Matt honks loudly in the driveway. My mom’s eyebrow
lifts and she frowns but I just kiss her and wish her a nice day before darting
out.

Matt
has the music cranked up to ear splitting, totally inappropriate morning
volumes. “Morning Becka.” Matt’s car is my personal oasis from conversation. 
He turns the volume down a notch. “Doing alright?” he asks, looking at me
sideways as he drives. “Seems like you had a tough time yesterday.”

“It’s
been a little rough but I’m okay.”

“If
you need anything-”

“I
know,” I say quickly. And I do know. Matt is like an older brother, always stepping
between me and the world. He gives me one quick glance and then jacks up the
volume again before making the turn onto Justin’s street.

He
slows the car three blocks later to pick up Justin. “Becka!” he exclaims like
we’ve been separated months instead of hours. He tries leaning forward to talk
to me, but the music makes that impossible. 

I slide into the seat
beside Mandy in the back row of English class. Before she can say anything, I
ask if she’ll come shopping with me after school. I barely mention the words
‘shopping’ and credit card’ before she launches into an excited monologue,
“this is awesome, really. And of course we’ll go shopping, because you need
something to wear to the party on Saturday and no, yoga pants will not suffice.
I’m thinking skirt at least, to show everyone you’re not all chewed up and stitched
back together under there.” She gestures at my clothes, which cover everything
but neck and hands. “You need to show some skin. You won’t believe what people
are saying! And, anyway, I’ve been flying solo at the mall for a month now
because Paige doesn’t ‘go to malls’ and everyone knows how color blind Piper
is. So beside party attire did you have anything specific in mind or should we
just work our way down from the top?”

She
breaks off briefly, giving me the chance to make a suggestion, “Actually, I
kind of need new pyjamas.”

Her
eyes widen with teasing interest, “Really? Something wrong with penguin pjs
you’ve had for the last four years? Finally split the bottom?”

I
know she’s teasing me but I flush anyway, “They’re pretty flimsy, I thought you
could help me pick something more stylish.”

“Stylish?
As in, I’m holding out on my best friend about this new, incredibly hot guy
I’ve met, or stylish as in, I’ve suddenly noticed how embarrassing it is that
all my lingerie has little animals on it?” She gives me a searching look but
then shrugs. “Don’t worry; I’ll get you set up either way.”

I
flip open my English book, trying to appear studious, and not at all interested
in further lingerie speculations and read the horrifying words, “Really, little
animals
?” written in Ephraim’s looping style. I groan and let my head
bang down softly on the desk.

Mandy wasn’t kidding
about force marching me through the entire mall. Every so often Mandy attempts to
rescue my coolness, throwing a party here, a fashion makeover there, or setting
up a blind date of some kind. Her latest effort, fixing me up with Derrick, was
not a raging success. Still, I appreciate the thought behind the gestures and suffer
through the acts themselves. This once though, I’m glad of her help.

When
she finally leads me into the lingerie department I go straight for a set of
flannel pjs. “I need something like this, the kind of thing that will keep me
warm on mountain tops,” I explain.

“Mountain
tops!?” Mandy exclaims rolling her eyes. She picks up a set with yellow and brown
stripes across it, “Please tell me this isn’t what you had in mind?” She
giggles then grabs something sheer with zebra stripes across it. “You have to
at least try on something fun, Miss. Flannel Pyjamas.”

I
take the gauzy zebra set in with a stack of Mandy approved sleepwear. Mandy lives
for this kind of girl bonding thing; the least I can do was play along. I have
to admit, most of the things she’s picked are wearable and a big improvement on
skateboarding hippos or dancing kittens. Finally, just to be a sport (and
because I know Mandy will ask about it) I try on the sheer zebra striped bra
and panty set. I am not about to come out in it…but I can at least give it a
twirl before the mirror. Under the fluorescent, changing room lights the scars
on my arm and leg are so bright they seem to luminesce. I trace my fingers over
the raised scar on my thigh, feeling the slick newness of the scar tissue. It’s
smooth and soft under my fingers. I frown. When I felt the skin yesterday it
was rough and ragged along the edges, more like a scab than skin. Now it feels
completely smooth. I peer at the yellowing skin around the scar. It looks
pinker and healthier today; could I have really healed so much overnight? I’m
so fixated by the damage to my body that for a moment my wounds are all I can
see.