Road Trips Read Online Free PDF Page A

flash afterglow. Sweat beaded on her brow; something had
awakened her: a whisper. It lingered on her like cold fingers dragged across
her skin.
    Sloughing off sleep, Megan scrunched her face in
concentration. She was laying on her side, in the fetal position, hands between
knees, as she always slept. The voice seemed to come from behind her...But how
close?She could not guess. It could have been from across the room or
under the covers.
    When she awoke, an image of her brother, Tommy, faded from
her mind. Certain sensations, fractions of moments, brought Tommy back to her.
Smells of creek water and wet earth, cologne, clove cigarettes, the certain way
a stranger would laugh; sights of young men with tousled hair and vibrant
smiles, an easy style; a husky, caring voice in a crowd; feelings of
loneliness.
    Again, the voice: soft, high, like a dog’s whimper. Not
Tommy’s voice.
     
    1:2.
    Remembering Tommy: Young boy, hair sun-bleached blond,
running with a stick after the family dog (a yappy, happy Terrier mix.) Years
later, a young man, attractive, blue eyes, hair darker and carelessly flopping
across forehead, shaved on one side. Ears pierced to chagrin of parents.
Laughter in eyes and voice. Always kind to younger sister.
    Howls of laughter from friends in his presence. His wide,
toothy grin possessing a duality: inspiring fits of laughter and lust. Girls
constantly calling. Tommy often out past curfew, but home early enough to awake
for school or work.
     
    1:3.
    The stillness ached, the silence roared in Megan’s ears.
Megan felt a scream efflorescing within her, her limbs hollow and listless.
(Asleep?) Now: there was no sound. Had the whisper in the dark been a dream?
Could it be Kirk playing a joke?
    Megan’s eyes pierced the darkness before her. Lying on her
side, she had her back to one side of the room—and the window. He could be
behind her, this whisperer. Could he even be outside—speaking through the
window?
    The room felt still and damp. Eyes searching the utter
darkness: vague forms, sharp edges of a desk, darkness swirling—was it
movement? She tried to focus her thoughts, force her mind elsewhere. Why was
she so scared tonight—
    —And Kirk? Had she heard his car leave? She had given him
her house key. If I get scared, I can call you and you can come back. He
had assured her he would. She wondered: Would he do this, a bad joke, knowing
how she felt since Tommy?
    But what was it, about this exact moment, that was making
her remember Tommy?
     
    1:4.
    Remembering Tommy: Pulling on a tan corduroy jacket. Hair
longer, no longer shaved on one side, still floppy in eyes. 18. The day he
died. College was not his thing. Musician: he loved the guitar. To chagrin of
his parents.
    Kicked out, but Megan had sneaked him in to eat and shower.
She gave him a bag of food to take. “They’re despots,” she whispered as he
slipped out the window of the room that had been his less than a week before.
    “ Despots ,” he laughed. “You’re a smart girl.”
    Last words. Cops came the next morning. Only memories.
     
    1:5.
    Megan shivered in the dark. So dark. Cool air wafted
over her head and skidded across her neck like birds footprints in snow. The
window had to be open. Besides, no one could be in the house. No one. She and Kirk had made certain. Room by room. Empty house.
    But who was outside?
    Megan eased her hands from between her knees afraid to alert
the speaker that she was awake. (Would he speak again?) A faint wisp of smell
crossed her nose: creek water?
     
    1:6.
    Remembering Tommy: Curly hair tousled by the wind, smoking a
clove cigarette. Little sister, 13, keeping watch for him while he took a last
hit under the high school bleacher. He made her feel included, loved. Let her
hang out with him and his friends. Though he was four years older. Nobody’s
older brother did that. Nobody’s.
    Tommy loved her. Sometimes...
    Sometimes she was not allowed to go. When he was with girls.
She had to stay home