Too Late To Fly
Title: Too Late To Fly
Chapter: One
Date: December 4, 2006
Summary: Here's the story of Emma Hawkins, the girl who is more commonly referred to as 'Claire's sister'. When you're forever living in the shadow of your sister, there has to be someway to step out, right?
Notes: So, I was listening to music today and suddenly felt like writing. Why, I don't know. But I was listening to Saving Jane's song, Reasons Why, and I kind of just wrote this thing for no real reason. So, hah. Here it is. xD Don't mind it, it's random and I can't say I like it, but I felt like I had to post it, lol. There's no real life ties to this, I swear it just popped out of my head instead of answers to algebra homework. Comments are loved :]
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"Oh, don't worry dear, it's just a phase."
A tiny smirk played across my pale features, the bitter cold nipping at my cheeks until they were a faint, rosy color. Watching my parents through our dining room window was like looking at someone else's life through a TV. It seemed... surreal.
Gazing through the frosty glass, my warm breath melted away a thin layer of ice and I used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe away a hole large enough for me to see through. A quick, harsh wind blew past and my pin straight brown hair picked up in the breeze. I yanked my hood up over my tomato-colored ears and felt my eyes following my parents' every move.
My mother, I realized, looked like a stranger to me. Her bluish gray eyes seemed to be darker, and her usually lively, curly hair seemed to be inanimate. Her usually clear skin looked pasty under an off white sweater and her slender fingers curled around a gold necklace that hung daintily from her neck. She sat in one of our cherry wood dining room chairs, her eyes transfixed on the front door, the only movements from her being the slight rise and fall of her chest and her fingers playing with the necklace. My step-father's palm rested on her shoulder comfortingly, but she acted as if it wasn't there.
Biting the inside of my lip, I couldn't bare watch any more. It had been like this for weeks since my younger sister, Claire, had decided to run away from home. I remember the night for it was like any other night; my father watching TV, my mother sitting beside him, ignoring the blare of the TV as she read a book, myself tucked up in my room, and Claire, running around the house mustering up any drama she could find. It was 'typical fourteen year old behavior' my father had told my mother, although they both knew that I had surpassed this 'phase' without incident. It had nothing to do with age. It had to do with Claire.
The argument had started that my parents had 'discovered' that Claire's grades had been dropping due to the fact she was currently going out with a boy two years older than her. Claire, stubborn as always, tried to deny and argue against them without thinking through what bullet proof evidence they had. A handful of emails from teachers and pictures Claire had of her boyfriend, Mike, were upon the incriminating factors. They didn't have a problem that she, being fourteen, wanted a relationship, in fact, my parents tried encouraging it.
But Claire's choice wasn't exactly the best.
Mike was one of your stereotypical high school junior guys who fit the whole 'sixteen and stupid' mold. He failed most of his classes, spare gym, never did his homework, was disrespectful, and was just plain rude. Even though he had been the one to ask out Claire, it was easy to see that he cheated on her. When confronted, Claire would just say, 'As long as he loves me more', but we all knew that wasn't the case. Sadly, she didn't.
So, after the heated argument, my parents saying she should stop seeing Mike for her own good, Claire saying getting out of the house would be for her own good, she left. She never confided in me, but I heard her talking to Mike on the phone after the fight, telling him she was packing her bags and asking if she could stay at his house. The answer, which I assumed after seeing the tears she sported on her face, was no.
Being the drama queen that she was, Claire wailed a cry that, had there not been walls and buildings to interfere, could probably have been heard from across the town. Once she had stuffed her pink and purple backpack with anything she could possibly fit in it, (picture zippers bursting and items sticking out in odd angles), she decided to storm from her room and straight out the front door.
Just like that, she was gone.
I had witnessed everything from the door of my room, and when I slowly made my way to the window in my room that over looked our front yard, I saw Claire marching off, head held high as she trudged away in a jean miniskirt. We both knew she had no where to go, but I knew that it would be impossible for her to keep a cool head in the house. She'd have to come home eventually, I knew it. She thrived on attention, and my parents were overflowing with it. All she needed was time to cool off.
So... that had been nearly three weeks ago, and Claire hadn't simmered down since. Thankfully, she called home the same night she left, and I had been the one to answer the phone. She said that she had to pull a 'sister secret' on me and told me that she had walked seven miles to our Aunt Lisa's house the next town over. She apologized to me only, saying it wasn't right of her to leave me there. I told her there was no problem, and asked why she bothered to call if she didn't intend on returning. Her answer was simple, as if she had planned on saying it the whole time.
"So they don't call the police and send out a search party for me, silly," she said into the phone in a slightly teasing manner.
After having assured me she would, eventually, return home, I hung up and reported to my parents. I didn't mention whose house she was at, by Claire's request and her fear that they would drag her home. My body seemingly numb after the incident, I didn't wait for a response, and nearly dragged myself upstairs. That had been it.
Now I had found myself outside of my own home, staring through the window as if I was some peeping-tom staring into someone else's life. I didn't have the energy to go back inside. To face the blank faces of my parents. To sit across from that empty seat at dinner. To walk by the incredibly pink and unruly bedroom that I have had to enter a few times in the past weeks to retrieve things to leave in Claire's locker so she could pick it up later.
It was all ridiculous. Some blown-up manner that my sister used to receive attention. And where did that leave me?
It left me with no place to go without having to confront some sort of conflict.
It left me wandering up the street towards the old neighborhood park that no one ever visited after the sun began to set.
As I hitched my backpack so it rested somewhat comfortably on my back, I stuffed my hands into the front pocket of my navy blue sweatshirt. The white lettering on the back said 'Hawkins', my last name, and my graduating year, '09. On the right sleeve it had 'Emma' embroidered and I found a strange comfort in it. It was simple, my sweatshirt said exactly what I was. I was Emma Hawkins. I wasn't as I was commonly known as; the oldest Hawkin girl, Claire's older sister.
Still wrapped up in my thoughts, I absentmindedly opened the hatch to the small play ground and thought back to the times when it was always Emma and Claire, as if my name took precedence over hers since I was the eldest. We were inseparable and I knew that, then, I could never have loved my sister more. The playground was our 'house', we would swing until we were too dizzy to move. The swings, in the center of the tiny playground, were always too big for us, so we'd settle for running off to the seesaw or the fake little wooden car. During the summer, we'd tie different colored ribbons to the chain link fence and race circles around it. I suppose that a twenty by twenty foot square looked a lot bigger when you were barely four foot three.
All around the old fence were tall, grown out bushes, each one planted perfectly to make a second wall around us, adding an extra layer of protection. An old, forgotten street light was stationed at the edge of the playground and, even though the light turned on every night, it provided barely any light at all, showing the signs of years of negligence.
Sitting on the swing, I felt the rubber seat cradle my weight and slid my hands into my sleeves so I could wrap them around the freezing cold metal chains. Using my feet, I slightly pushed off, a small shiver coursing through me as the small breeze penetrated my sweatshirt and caused the hairs on my arms to raise. A small childish grin swept across my face as I slowly began to pick up speed, and I recalled how, when I was younger, I would swing as high, and fast, as I could.
"Maybe, if I go fast enough, I could fly sometime," I would tell my sister, hope present across every feature. "I'd fly right out of here. Out of the shadows, I'd sing and sing and the notes would soar through the air. That's what I'll do. Someday. I'll fly."
I suppose what I said was silly, I never expected to actually take flight; be it leaving the swing behind me, or stepping out of the shadows. My singing days were long gone, one of those little kid things you did, but still...
The chains squeaked in strain as I continued to swing, pumping my feet back and forth, watching the sun set before me. The playground, and my street for that matter, rested on the top of the hill, and as I stared out into the setting orange orb, I almost forgot how beautiful it was.
"Someday," I murmured to myself quietly, "I'll fly. Right out of Claire's shadow. There will be someone who knows me for Emma, not for Claire." Nodding to my words until they became the truth in my ears, I slowed to a stop and left the swings, only to return every night after, waiting until the sun set before going home.
It was on the fifth day since my first night in the playground that I noticed something different.
In an unusually high spirited mood, I was humming to myself, not paying attention as I opened the latch to the forgotten swings. I had already thrown my backpack its usual spot towards the corner of the fence when I noticed that the swing next to the one I always sat at was occupied.
I recognized the boy that sat there from school, he was in one of my classes, and I occasionally passed him in the hallway. In fact, I think it would be easy enough to say that everyone knew him. He was Chris Langer; honor roll student, soccer player, and one of the well known people in my grade. Well known, not popular. Despite the popularity he could access, he kept to himself, sometimes branching out to a few close friends he had. He was definitely a heart-throb in many girls' eyes, in fact, even Claire had fallen for him at a point.
As my backpack hit the ground in seemingly slow motion, his head picked up, and I noticed why he hadn't noticed me walk in. White iPod chords were leading from his jacket pocket to his ears, and once he saw me there, our eyes locked for a second.
Quickly turning away, I started for my backpack. "I'm sorry," I muttered quietly, "I didn't think anyone was going to be here."
It took him a little bit to respond, which I didn't really care for one way or another. 'Wait' and 'You don't have to leave' were words I heard but didn't interpret until I reached out to open the gate. As I did so, a hand reached out and shut it again and I found myself looking up at Chris, who was nearly six feet tall, a significant distance away from a mere five foot three.
Unsure of what to do, it was the first real interaction I've had in weeks, having shut myself off from the world since Claire ran away. "Excuse me?"
His slate-blue eyes opened a bit in wonder or shock, maybe at his actions, or mine. He quickly ran a hand through his short, dirty blond hair, his pale eyes searching for something to say. "You, uh, don't have to leave," he said finally, scoffing a bit before muttering something along the lines of 'idiot'. My eyebrows pulled together as I considered leaving again, but he beat me to speaking. "My house is right behind the bushes and I've been hearing the swings for a couple nights now. I was just wondering who still came here and, well, I didn't mean to take your spot or anything."
I stared at the ground, the only movement being the visible puffs of air coming from my nose. When I made no move to respond, I saw Chris wrap his iPod and throw a jacket on over his sweatshirt. As he went to leave via the same gate I was standing in front of, I stood in between him and the latch, not really aware that he could easily vault right over the fence. "You don't have to leave either," I said quietly, my voice barely audible. "It's not my spot, there's two swings, I can share."
I could tell that both of us were dwelling on the events that took place over the past two minutes, but we both ended up taking seats on the swings, neither of us really starting to swing. We sat, and as we sat, time seemed to freeze. A couple snipping breezes sliced by and I felt myself shiver a bit, but it was still a calming feeling. Like I was alone.
Even though I was with someone else.
And despite how it sounded, it was... comforting.
He would be the first to break the silence. "So... come here often?" His voice had a slightly teasing note in it since he had already stated that he knew I had been here for the past few nights. Despite the events of the past few weeks, a small smile came up on my cheeks as I nodded my head slightly. There was another pause and I didn't dare look at him. I had no reason to. But he interpreted it differently. "I know our parents always told us to not talk to strangers, but I'm not all that strange you know. That, and you're fifteen. I'm pretty sure you figured out I'm not here to kidnap you." A small huff of breath escaped my lips and I could have sworn that it was almost a laugh. Chris seemed to notice too, for a smile spread on his face.
Feeling a question nagging at the base of my neck, I opened my mouth and it seemingly poured forth without my consent. "Do you even know who I am?" As soon as the words escaped, I bit my lip. That's it. I ruined it. The calmness of the scene would dissipate and I'd have to add yet another place to my 'conflicting settings' list of places I wouldn't go.
To my surprise, he laughed. "Of course. You're Emma Hawkins." I waited as he stopped talking, waiting for him to tack on the same line everyone else said. 'You're Emma Hawkins, Claire's sister' I recited in my head. A longer pause drifted by. He never said it. Looking over towards him, I saw him staring back, his head slightly tilted to the side, blue-gray eyes staring at me as if I was the only thing there. "You do know who I am, right?"
I nodded my head curtly. "Chris Langer, you're in my english class." You smiled at me in the hallways once, I added to myself silently, a tiny blush creeping up on my cheeks at the thought. Another wind battered by causing me to shiver. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath, feeling the crisp air surge through my lungs. A cleansing feeling.
When I opened my eyes, my shoulders suddenly felt heavier. Turning my head, I saw a tan brown jacket draped over my sweatshirt, my brown hair sprayed out over the collar of it. Turning my head to Chris questioningly, I saw that he now donned his navy blue soccer sweatshirt. When he caught my questioning gaze, he shrugged, smiling slightly.
"So... Miss Emma Hawkins. What brings you out here on such a beautiful day?" His voice was sarcastic as his foot pushed away a small pile of left over snow from the day before.
Finding his voice slightly soothing, I turned my head back towards the setting sun before me. My mind would usually try to concoct some believable lie, but with Chris, I felt like I could just say it. "Can't go home," I murmured. He looked like he wanted to press on and understand why, but he didn't, and I thanked him for it.
Instead, the two of us passed time talking about things of no consequence, enjoying each other's company. When the sun had set to the point we had to say goodbye and retreat to our houses, I felt something that I hadn't in a long time, but couldn't quite put my finger on it.
He held the gate open for me and I smiled, slipping out in the night. I wasn't quite sure if I should say goodbye or anything, so I started down the street. I didn't get far before I heard, "Hey! Goodnight, Emma!" From his voice, I could tell he was smiling. I grinned too, loving how he said my name as if there was something special to it.
"Goodnight!"
And so, it began. Everyday, around the time of sunset, I'd meet Chris at the swings and we'd sit there and talk. Each time he'd try to bring up why I didn't like to go home and I would artfully dodge it before bringing up something else. We talked about sports, grades, teachers, friends; anything we could think of just to stay in each other's company. It was a pleasant relationship and I was glad to know I had at least one friend out there. And every time I talked to him, not once did he bring up my sister into a conversation. I asked him about it once and he goes, 'Why would I talk about Claire? If I'm not mistaken, I come here to talk to Emma.' By then my cheeks would be flushed red. He was giving me exactly what I needed; time away from home, and a person to be.
It was exactly fourteen days after our first encounter in the swings when I knew something had to change. During the time since our first meet we began to hang out at school too. He'd invite me to sit with him at lunch when my friends refused to talk to me. When we had projects to do in English class, he'd be the only one to offer to work with me. Sometimes, if the weather was nice enough, he'd ask me if I wanted to walk home with him, just so we could talk some more. Slowly, I felt myself growing attached to Chris. And I couldn't say there was anything wrong with it. He always treated me like me, not like anyone else. He'd always hold open the gate for me in a sweet way, give me his jacket just like the first night. Whenever there was something I longed for, he always seemed to fill the hole.
So, on the fourteenth day of us meeting at the swings, I decided to be brave. His first question, as usual, was 'Will you be going home tonight?'. When the dreaded question didn't come and Chris started talking about other things, I found that I had interrupted and blurted everything out. Anything I had kept bottled up inside had come out; uncorked, unstoppable, and god did it feel good to talk about it.
I told him how I had always grown up in my sister's shadow, how she always got the attention, how she was the 'baby girl' of the family. I told him about how she ran away, about how she used me to talk to my parents, and about how my parents seemed to act as if their only child had ran away. I told him about how I just couldn't go home to face them, how it felt like returning home alone, without Claire, seemed to be disappointing. And, lastly, I told him how, when I was younger, I wanted to fly.
He politely nodded his head, seemingly interested. I added this to the list of reasons I liked being with him without stopping to take a breath.
I continued on about how Claire had told me the day after she ran away that Mike had dumped her. I talked about how we knew it would never last. How she fell too easily for Mike just because he was older. I told him about how I had distanced myself from my friends and how, even now, after he had began to open me up, they didn't want me back.
Lastly, I told him how I never really wanted to go back home until I had something to prove that I wasn't just Claire's shadow and that I was Emma.
The sun was nearly gone when I finished and the old lamp post had flickered on, stars popping up in the dark sky. Wrapping up everything I had to say, I looked at him expectantly to see his reaction. "Well?" I asked when I was done. "Anything?"
His pale eyes continued to watch me and, for once, I looked at them without turning away. Extraordinary eyes he had, they were this pale blue, like a thin sheet of ice over the deep blue of an ocean, but despite its paleness, their depth seemed infinite. I felt myself melting into the ice as I waited.
When he finally did move, it was like he woke from a trance. "I think... I should take you home," he said quietly, a dazed look still on his face.
My expression dropped. Not what I expected him to say. But... I hadn't expected him to say anything at all, so I suppose it didn't matter.
"I can walk myself home," I pointed out as the two of us gathered out things and he held the gate open for me. "It's only down the street."
He shook his head, walking beside me while matching my stride. We only had to walk four houses down before we reached my house. The porch light was on and, looking through the window, I saw that the dining room was empty. A change.
Looking through the living room window, I saw my father standing, a smile on his face while my mother stood beside him, tears streaking her face. Not sure of what was going on, it wasn't until I saw Claire move into my sight that I realized what happened.
"Claire's back," I said quietly, hating myself for how disappointed my voice sounded. Chris turned to see where my eyes were glue and nodded.
Silently, he walked me all the way up to my door, his hands stuffed into his pockets awkwardly. "Looks like I'm back into Claire's shadow," I murmured solemnly. "But thanks for listening to me--"
My words were silenced as I felt something brush across my lips. For a reason unknown to me, I closed my eyes, not fully aware of what had happened. It wasn't until his lips left mine that I figured it out.
A bit dazed and disoriented, my fingers lightly brushed my lips, my eyes staring at him for some explanation. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief and he grinned. "Know what I'm going to remember all night?"
Still frozen to the spot, I shook my head.
"I'm going to remember that, today, I was with Emma Harkins. She's been hanging out with me for the past two weeks and it's been her company that I've enjoyed the most. I'm going to remember how she finally opened up to tell me what was on her mind. And I'm going to remember that, today, I kissed Emma Harkins, and I'm going to smile about it for a long time." I looked at him, disbelieving, listening as if I was listening to a mad man. Perhaps I was. Despite this, he continued. "Someday I'm going to meet Claire Harkins, and do you know what I'm going to say to her? 'Why, hello there, you must be Emma's sister'. And while she gapes what my words in disbelief, I'm going to find you, tell you the story, and smile when I see how happy you'll be." He paused, probably for effect. He retreated down the two steps, away from my front door without breaking eye contact. "It's never too late to fly."
"You're crazy," I murmured.
He shook his head. "You are. Can't you see? I just moved the shadow away from you. All you have to do is--"
"Fly." I finished the sentence for him, finally understanding. Do you know how incredibly cliched that was? But I didn't care.
He wasn't crazy.
He was right.
A light flickering on inside me, I finally realized; hey! I'm not just Claire's sister to everyone. There's at least one person out there who knows me for me. As I retreated into my house and Chris began to walk home, my sister and parents looked at me suspiciously, eyeing the jacket I still had on. I rolled my eyes and ran upstairs into my room, slamming the door shut behind me.
Collapsing on my bed, Chris's voice rang in my ears and I sighed, hoping the echo would never fade.
I know it seems like I'm making too big of a deal out of this. After today's events, I don't expect that everyone will forget about Claire. I don't expect people to magically know who Emma Harkins is. I don't expect Chris to fall head over heels for me, even if I had started to fall for him. I don't even expect that I have moved all the way out of Claire's shadow.
But those can all be changed. The results will come... eventually.
Until then, I would linger in my own blissful world where I could feel the breeze beneath my arms and I could hear Chris's voice whispering to me.
It's never too late to fly.
Chapter: One
Date: December 4, 2006
Summary: Here's the story of Emma Hawkins, the girl who is more commonly referred to as 'Claire's sister'. When you're forever living in the shadow of your sister, there has to be someway to step out, right?
Notes: So, I was listening to music today and suddenly felt like writing. Why, I don't know. But I was listening to Saving Jane's song, Reasons Why, and I kind of just wrote this thing for no real reason. So, hah. Here it is. xD Don't mind it, it's random and I can't say I like it, but I felt like I had to post it, lol. There's no real life ties to this, I swear it just popped out of my head instead of answers to algebra homework. Comments are loved :]
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"Oh, don't worry dear, it's just a phase."
A tiny smirk played across my pale features, the bitter cold nipping at my cheeks until they were a faint, rosy color. Watching my parents through our dining room window was like looking at someone else's life through a TV. It seemed... surreal.
Gazing through the frosty glass, my warm breath melted away a thin layer of ice and I used the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe away a hole large enough for me to see through. A quick, harsh wind blew past and my pin straight brown hair picked up in the breeze. I yanked my hood up over my tomato-colored ears and felt my eyes following my parents' every move.
My mother, I realized, looked like a stranger to me. Her bluish gray eyes seemed to be darker, and her usually lively, curly hair seemed to be inanimate. Her usually clear skin looked pasty under an off white sweater and her slender fingers curled around a gold necklace that hung daintily from her neck. She sat in one of our cherry wood dining room chairs, her eyes transfixed on the front door, the only movements from her being the slight rise and fall of her chest and her fingers playing with the necklace. My step-father's palm rested on her shoulder comfortingly, but she acted as if it wasn't there.
Biting the inside of my lip, I couldn't bare watch any more. It had been like this for weeks since my younger sister, Claire, had decided to run away from home. I remember the night for it was like any other night; my father watching TV, my mother sitting beside him, ignoring the blare of the TV as she read a book, myself tucked up in my room, and Claire, running around the house mustering up any drama she could find. It was 'typical fourteen year old behavior' my father had told my mother, although they both knew that I had surpassed this 'phase' without incident. It had nothing to do with age. It had to do with Claire.
The argument had started that my parents had 'discovered' that Claire's grades had been dropping due to the fact she was currently going out with a boy two years older than her. Claire, stubborn as always, tried to deny and argue against them without thinking through what bullet proof evidence they had. A handful of emails from teachers and pictures Claire had of her boyfriend, Mike, were upon the incriminating factors. They didn't have a problem that she, being fourteen, wanted a relationship, in fact, my parents tried encouraging it.
But Claire's choice wasn't exactly the best.
Mike was one of your stereotypical high school junior guys who fit the whole 'sixteen and stupid' mold. He failed most of his classes, spare gym, never did his homework, was disrespectful, and was just plain rude. Even though he had been the one to ask out Claire, it was easy to see that he cheated on her. When confronted, Claire would just say, 'As long as he loves me more', but we all knew that wasn't the case. Sadly, she didn't.
So, after the heated argument, my parents saying she should stop seeing Mike for her own good, Claire saying getting out of the house would be for her own good, she left. She never confided in me, but I heard her talking to Mike on the phone after the fight, telling him she was packing her bags and asking if she could stay at his house. The answer, which I assumed after seeing the tears she sported on her face, was no.
Being the drama queen that she was, Claire wailed a cry that, had there not been walls and buildings to interfere, could probably have been heard from across the town. Once she had stuffed her pink and purple backpack with anything she could possibly fit in it, (picture zippers bursting and items sticking out in odd angles), she decided to storm from her room and straight out the front door.
Just like that, she was gone.
I had witnessed everything from the door of my room, and when I slowly made my way to the window in my room that over looked our front yard, I saw Claire marching off, head held high as she trudged away in a jean miniskirt. We both knew she had no where to go, but I knew that it would be impossible for her to keep a cool head in the house. She'd have to come home eventually, I knew it. She thrived on attention, and my parents were overflowing with it. All she needed was time to cool off.
So... that had been nearly three weeks ago, and Claire hadn't simmered down since. Thankfully, she called home the same night she left, and I had been the one to answer the phone. She said that she had to pull a 'sister secret' on me and told me that she had walked seven miles to our Aunt Lisa's house the next town over. She apologized to me only, saying it wasn't right of her to leave me there. I told her there was no problem, and asked why she bothered to call if she didn't intend on returning. Her answer was simple, as if she had planned on saying it the whole time.
"So they don't call the police and send out a search party for me, silly," she said into the phone in a slightly teasing manner.
After having assured me she would, eventually, return home, I hung up and reported to my parents. I didn't mention whose house she was at, by Claire's request and her fear that they would drag her home. My body seemingly numb after the incident, I didn't wait for a response, and nearly dragged myself upstairs. That had been it.
Now I had found myself outside of my own home, staring through the window as if I was some peeping-tom staring into someone else's life. I didn't have the energy to go back inside. To face the blank faces of my parents. To sit across from that empty seat at dinner. To walk by the incredibly pink and unruly bedroom that I have had to enter a few times in the past weeks to retrieve things to leave in Claire's locker so she could pick it up later.
It was all ridiculous. Some blown-up manner that my sister used to receive attention. And where did that leave me?
It left me with no place to go without having to confront some sort of conflict.
It left me wandering up the street towards the old neighborhood park that no one ever visited after the sun began to set.
As I hitched my backpack so it rested somewhat comfortably on my back, I stuffed my hands into the front pocket of my navy blue sweatshirt. The white lettering on the back said 'Hawkins', my last name, and my graduating year, '09. On the right sleeve it had 'Emma' embroidered and I found a strange comfort in it. It was simple, my sweatshirt said exactly what I was. I was Emma Hawkins. I wasn't as I was commonly known as; the oldest Hawkin girl, Claire's older sister.
Still wrapped up in my thoughts, I absentmindedly opened the hatch to the small play ground and thought back to the times when it was always Emma and Claire, as if my name took precedence over hers since I was the eldest. We were inseparable and I knew that, then, I could never have loved my sister more. The playground was our 'house', we would swing until we were too dizzy to move. The swings, in the center of the tiny playground, were always too big for us, so we'd settle for running off to the seesaw or the fake little wooden car. During the summer, we'd tie different colored ribbons to the chain link fence and race circles around it. I suppose that a twenty by twenty foot square looked a lot bigger when you were barely four foot three.
All around the old fence were tall, grown out bushes, each one planted perfectly to make a second wall around us, adding an extra layer of protection. An old, forgotten street light was stationed at the edge of the playground and, even though the light turned on every night, it provided barely any light at all, showing the signs of years of negligence.
Sitting on the swing, I felt the rubber seat cradle my weight and slid my hands into my sleeves so I could wrap them around the freezing cold metal chains. Using my feet, I slightly pushed off, a small shiver coursing through me as the small breeze penetrated my sweatshirt and caused the hairs on my arms to raise. A small childish grin swept across my face as I slowly began to pick up speed, and I recalled how, when I was younger, I would swing as high, and fast, as I could.
"Maybe, if I go fast enough, I could fly sometime," I would tell my sister, hope present across every feature. "I'd fly right out of here. Out of the shadows, I'd sing and sing and the notes would soar through the air. That's what I'll do. Someday. I'll fly."
I suppose what I said was silly, I never expected to actually take flight; be it leaving the swing behind me, or stepping out of the shadows. My singing days were long gone, one of those little kid things you did, but still...
The chains squeaked in strain as I continued to swing, pumping my feet back and forth, watching the sun set before me. The playground, and my street for that matter, rested on the top of the hill, and as I stared out into the setting orange orb, I almost forgot how beautiful it was.
"Someday," I murmured to myself quietly, "I'll fly. Right out of Claire's shadow. There will be someone who knows me for Emma, not for Claire." Nodding to my words until they became the truth in my ears, I slowed to a stop and left the swings, only to return every night after, waiting until the sun set before going home.
It was on the fifth day since my first night in the playground that I noticed something different.
In an unusually high spirited mood, I was humming to myself, not paying attention as I opened the latch to the forgotten swings. I had already thrown my backpack its usual spot towards the corner of the fence when I noticed that the swing next to the one I always sat at was occupied.
I recognized the boy that sat there from school, he was in one of my classes, and I occasionally passed him in the hallway. In fact, I think it would be easy enough to say that everyone knew him. He was Chris Langer; honor roll student, soccer player, and one of the well known people in my grade. Well known, not popular. Despite the popularity he could access, he kept to himself, sometimes branching out to a few close friends he had. He was definitely a heart-throb in many girls' eyes, in fact, even Claire had fallen for him at a point.
As my backpack hit the ground in seemingly slow motion, his head picked up, and I noticed why he hadn't noticed me walk in. White iPod chords were leading from his jacket pocket to his ears, and once he saw me there, our eyes locked for a second.
Quickly turning away, I started for my backpack. "I'm sorry," I muttered quietly, "I didn't think anyone was going to be here."
It took him a little bit to respond, which I didn't really care for one way or another. 'Wait' and 'You don't have to leave' were words I heard but didn't interpret until I reached out to open the gate. As I did so, a hand reached out and shut it again and I found myself looking up at Chris, who was nearly six feet tall, a significant distance away from a mere five foot three.
Unsure of what to do, it was the first real interaction I've had in weeks, having shut myself off from the world since Claire ran away. "Excuse me?"
His slate-blue eyes opened a bit in wonder or shock, maybe at his actions, or mine. He quickly ran a hand through his short, dirty blond hair, his pale eyes searching for something to say. "You, uh, don't have to leave," he said finally, scoffing a bit before muttering something along the lines of 'idiot'. My eyebrows pulled together as I considered leaving again, but he beat me to speaking. "My house is right behind the bushes and I've been hearing the swings for a couple nights now. I was just wondering who still came here and, well, I didn't mean to take your spot or anything."
I stared at the ground, the only movement being the visible puffs of air coming from my nose. When I made no move to respond, I saw Chris wrap his iPod and throw a jacket on over his sweatshirt. As he went to leave via the same gate I was standing in front of, I stood in between him and the latch, not really aware that he could easily vault right over the fence. "You don't have to leave either," I said quietly, my voice barely audible. "It's not my spot, there's two swings, I can share."
I could tell that both of us were dwelling on the events that took place over the past two minutes, but we both ended up taking seats on the swings, neither of us really starting to swing. We sat, and as we sat, time seemed to freeze. A couple snipping breezes sliced by and I felt myself shiver a bit, but it was still a calming feeling. Like I was alone.
Even though I was with someone else.
And despite how it sounded, it was... comforting.
He would be the first to break the silence. "So... come here often?" His voice had a slightly teasing note in it since he had already stated that he knew I had been here for the past few nights. Despite the events of the past few weeks, a small smile came up on my cheeks as I nodded my head slightly. There was another pause and I didn't dare look at him. I had no reason to. But he interpreted it differently. "I know our parents always told us to not talk to strangers, but I'm not all that strange you know. That, and you're fifteen. I'm pretty sure you figured out I'm not here to kidnap you." A small huff of breath escaped my lips and I could have sworn that it was almost a laugh. Chris seemed to notice too, for a smile spread on his face.
Feeling a question nagging at the base of my neck, I opened my mouth and it seemingly poured forth without my consent. "Do you even know who I am?" As soon as the words escaped, I bit my lip. That's it. I ruined it. The calmness of the scene would dissipate and I'd have to add yet another place to my 'conflicting settings' list of places I wouldn't go.
To my surprise, he laughed. "Of course. You're Emma Hawkins." I waited as he stopped talking, waiting for him to tack on the same line everyone else said. 'You're Emma Hawkins, Claire's sister' I recited in my head. A longer pause drifted by. He never said it. Looking over towards him, I saw him staring back, his head slightly tilted to the side, blue-gray eyes staring at me as if I was the only thing there. "You do know who I am, right?"
I nodded my head curtly. "Chris Langer, you're in my english class." You smiled at me in the hallways once, I added to myself silently, a tiny blush creeping up on my cheeks at the thought. Another wind battered by causing me to shiver. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath, feeling the crisp air surge through my lungs. A cleansing feeling.
When I opened my eyes, my shoulders suddenly felt heavier. Turning my head, I saw a tan brown jacket draped over my sweatshirt, my brown hair sprayed out over the collar of it. Turning my head to Chris questioningly, I saw that he now donned his navy blue soccer sweatshirt. When he caught my questioning gaze, he shrugged, smiling slightly.
"So... Miss Emma Hawkins. What brings you out here on such a beautiful day?" His voice was sarcastic as his foot pushed away a small pile of left over snow from the day before.
Finding his voice slightly soothing, I turned my head back towards the setting sun before me. My mind would usually try to concoct some believable lie, but with Chris, I felt like I could just say it. "Can't go home," I murmured. He looked like he wanted to press on and understand why, but he didn't, and I thanked him for it.
Instead, the two of us passed time talking about things of no consequence, enjoying each other's company. When the sun had set to the point we had to say goodbye and retreat to our houses, I felt something that I hadn't in a long time, but couldn't quite put my finger on it.
He held the gate open for me and I smiled, slipping out in the night. I wasn't quite sure if I should say goodbye or anything, so I started down the street. I didn't get far before I heard, "Hey! Goodnight, Emma!" From his voice, I could tell he was smiling. I grinned too, loving how he said my name as if there was something special to it.
"Goodnight!"
And so, it began. Everyday, around the time of sunset, I'd meet Chris at the swings and we'd sit there and talk. Each time he'd try to bring up why I didn't like to go home and I would artfully dodge it before bringing up something else. We talked about sports, grades, teachers, friends; anything we could think of just to stay in each other's company. It was a pleasant relationship and I was glad to know I had at least one friend out there. And every time I talked to him, not once did he bring up my sister into a conversation. I asked him about it once and he goes, 'Why would I talk about Claire? If I'm not mistaken, I come here to talk to Emma.' By then my cheeks would be flushed red. He was giving me exactly what I needed; time away from home, and a person to be.
It was exactly fourteen days after our first encounter in the swings when I knew something had to change. During the time since our first meet we began to hang out at school too. He'd invite me to sit with him at lunch when my friends refused to talk to me. When we had projects to do in English class, he'd be the only one to offer to work with me. Sometimes, if the weather was nice enough, he'd ask me if I wanted to walk home with him, just so we could talk some more. Slowly, I felt myself growing attached to Chris. And I couldn't say there was anything wrong with it. He always treated me like me, not like anyone else. He'd always hold open the gate for me in a sweet way, give me his jacket just like the first night. Whenever there was something I longed for, he always seemed to fill the hole.
So, on the fourteenth day of us meeting at the swings, I decided to be brave. His first question, as usual, was 'Will you be going home tonight?'. When the dreaded question didn't come and Chris started talking about other things, I found that I had interrupted and blurted everything out. Anything I had kept bottled up inside had come out; uncorked, unstoppable, and god did it feel good to talk about it.
I told him how I had always grown up in my sister's shadow, how she always got the attention, how she was the 'baby girl' of the family. I told him about how she ran away, about how she used me to talk to my parents, and about how my parents seemed to act as if their only child had ran away. I told him about how I just couldn't go home to face them, how it felt like returning home alone, without Claire, seemed to be disappointing. And, lastly, I told him how, when I was younger, I wanted to fly.
He politely nodded his head, seemingly interested. I added this to the list of reasons I liked being with him without stopping to take a breath.
I continued on about how Claire had told me the day after she ran away that Mike had dumped her. I talked about how we knew it would never last. How she fell too easily for Mike just because he was older. I told him about how I had distanced myself from my friends and how, even now, after he had began to open me up, they didn't want me back.
Lastly, I told him how I never really wanted to go back home until I had something to prove that I wasn't just Claire's shadow and that I was Emma.
The sun was nearly gone when I finished and the old lamp post had flickered on, stars popping up in the dark sky. Wrapping up everything I had to say, I looked at him expectantly to see his reaction. "Well?" I asked when I was done. "Anything?"
His pale eyes continued to watch me and, for once, I looked at them without turning away. Extraordinary eyes he had, they were this pale blue, like a thin sheet of ice over the deep blue of an ocean, but despite its paleness, their depth seemed infinite. I felt myself melting into the ice as I waited.
When he finally did move, it was like he woke from a trance. "I think... I should take you home," he said quietly, a dazed look still on his face.
My expression dropped. Not what I expected him to say. But... I hadn't expected him to say anything at all, so I suppose it didn't matter.
"I can walk myself home," I pointed out as the two of us gathered out things and he held the gate open for me. "It's only down the street."
He shook his head, walking beside me while matching my stride. We only had to walk four houses down before we reached my house. The porch light was on and, looking through the window, I saw that the dining room was empty. A change.
Looking through the living room window, I saw my father standing, a smile on his face while my mother stood beside him, tears streaking her face. Not sure of what was going on, it wasn't until I saw Claire move into my sight that I realized what happened.
"Claire's back," I said quietly, hating myself for how disappointed my voice sounded. Chris turned to see where my eyes were glue and nodded.
Silently, he walked me all the way up to my door, his hands stuffed into his pockets awkwardly. "Looks like I'm back into Claire's shadow," I murmured solemnly. "But thanks for listening to me--"
My words were silenced as I felt something brush across my lips. For a reason unknown to me, I closed my eyes, not fully aware of what had happened. It wasn't until his lips left mine that I figured it out.
A bit dazed and disoriented, my fingers lightly brushed my lips, my eyes staring at him for some explanation. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief and he grinned. "Know what I'm going to remember all night?"
Still frozen to the spot, I shook my head.
"I'm going to remember that, today, I was with Emma Harkins. She's been hanging out with me for the past two weeks and it's been her company that I've enjoyed the most. I'm going to remember how she finally opened up to tell me what was on her mind. And I'm going to remember that, today, I kissed Emma Harkins, and I'm going to smile about it for a long time." I looked at him, disbelieving, listening as if I was listening to a mad man. Perhaps I was. Despite this, he continued. "Someday I'm going to meet Claire Harkins, and do you know what I'm going to say to her? 'Why, hello there, you must be Emma's sister'. And while she gapes what my words in disbelief, I'm going to find you, tell you the story, and smile when I see how happy you'll be." He paused, probably for effect. He retreated down the two steps, away from my front door without breaking eye contact. "It's never too late to fly."
"You're crazy," I murmured.
He shook his head. "You are. Can't you see? I just moved the shadow away from you. All you have to do is--"
"Fly." I finished the sentence for him, finally understanding. Do you know how incredibly cliched that was? But I didn't care.
He wasn't crazy.
He was right.
A light flickering on inside me, I finally realized; hey! I'm not just Claire's sister to everyone. There's at least one person out there who knows me for me. As I retreated into my house and Chris began to walk home, my sister and parents looked at me suspiciously, eyeing the jacket I still had on. I rolled my eyes and ran upstairs into my room, slamming the door shut behind me.
Collapsing on my bed, Chris's voice rang in my ears and I sighed, hoping the echo would never fade.
I know it seems like I'm making too big of a deal out of this. After today's events, I don't expect that everyone will forget about Claire. I don't expect people to magically know who Emma Harkins is. I don't expect Chris to fall head over heels for me, even if I had started to fall for him. I don't even expect that I have moved all the way out of Claire's shadow.
But those can all be changed. The results will come... eventually.
Until then, I would linger in my own blissful world where I could feel the breeze beneath my arms and I could hear Chris's voice whispering to me.
It's never too late to fly.