River: A Novel Read Free Page A

very
open and exposed. Crap. What am I doing outside? I pried apart my swollen
eyes. My clothes were stiff, as though they had been wet and forced to dry in
odd angles draping my body. While blinking, my vision blurred. I was facing a
concave line of trees, curled up in frozen dirt.   
     My folded glasses
were next to me. Not askew, but as if someone had carefully placed them. The
shuffling noise when I moved startled me. The only other sounds were the slight
crackle of dry leaves whenever the wind knocked them and a stifled waterfall. Turning my head to the right, I was
surprised I could hear out of that ear, though I couldn’t place the wayward thought’s origin. The sound on
that side of my body was an iced-over lake; the edges a bit thawed. That was
where I lay, almost touching the frozen mud. 
     Unsteadily
sitting up, I desperately attempted to force my memory to work. My thoughts
were gridlocked in an impenetrable knot while circles of near memories eluded
me. I’d never been great at remembering names and always wanted to call people
someone else, especially the other dancers. Without really paying attention, I had
told them to go with it. The other kids would roll their eyes at me. “Crazy
orphaned chick ” had been my nickname when I’d first arrived at The Studio. 
     I’d been
looked after by Nanette, the director. Once Petra Loiscvich had joined my side,
the behind-my-back whisperings subsided. At The Studio, Petra was royalty. Her
parents had been principals in various companies and carried a world renowned
last name. Our friendship had bloomed out of nowhere. Or maybe it had been the
love of a TV show neither of us ever missed. Every week, it had been the two of
us commandeering the tiny dorm commons to watch. At first, we had just smiled shyly at each other, and then
we were having conversations about the show over pizza, before finally divulging
our life stories.
     Though
completely different in our backgrounds, we were equals in our love of kick-ass
spy shows. Later, Petra had told me that she could’ve watched it on her laptop,
of which I didn’t own, but she liked to watch the show with me. This revelation
secured her place as my best friend—something I’d never had before. I’d kept
everyone at arm’s length in my youth. Being abandoned when you are a baby did
that to a person. 
     The walls
went back up after she had left on tour with the NYC Ballet. We would e-mail sometimes, but Petra was
married to the stage now. I didn’t tell her about my injury; she would have only
become paranoid that something similar would happen to her. She had always been
a bright ray of sunlight while I was a dark storm cloud, threatening her
horizon. I didn’t want to be that, and the wall had gone up between us slowly,
brick by brick. As soon as I’d begun attempting to kill the pain by using, the
bricks were in front of my eyeballs. I didn’t need to add my baggage to hers. Petra
wasn’t coming home any time soon, anyway. 
     “I wish you
were here now,” I whispered. 
     Talking to
myself brought me back to my predicament. A recollection snapped into place, one
of very few coherent memories in my newly conscious mind. The last thing I
could remember was Danny at the party. Did he give me something that erased
my short-term memory? I considered with annoyance. Doubtful… but then I
wouldn’t remember any warnings. He could’ve written some instructions in
permanent marker on my hand or something helpful like that.
     Danny had always
at least told me the basic downfalls of his creations, typically after I’d
ingested them, but still. “ Here’s the rub,” he’d said once , “this one
makes you really thirsty and you might cry when you hear
show tunes .” After that particular disclosure, he’d just happened upon a mountainous
playlist of Broadway hits. It had been awhile before I’d regained composure
enough to unplug his computer, and then force him to take me out for