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On Friday night, I was in my room, looking at a sketch I’d drawn early that morning when I woke up at four and couldn’t go back to sleep. It was of the woman who regularly popped into my mind when I was running. Maybe she was someone I ought to remember.
Mom was watching TV by herself, so I wandered into the living room. She’d made some popcorn and propped up her feet. Dad had gotten a second job playing country music with a band, and things at home were more relaxed when he was gone. During the next commercial, I showed Mom the sketchbook. “This woman’s face keeps coming to me, and I don’t recognize her. Do you know who she is?”
She flipped through the book. Then she looked at me, eyes wide. “I had no idea you’d gotten so good. These are fantastic. I don’t recognize her, either. Maybe you made her up.”
“I don’t think so. That’s why I’m asking you. Could she have been a babysitter or something? It seems like I remember her from a long time ago.”
Mom stared at the picture again, squinting. Then she turned back to me. “She might have been one of your babysitters when we lived in Ohio. You took quite a shine to her. Mimi, I think her name was. But why are you drawing her so much?”
“I’m not sure. She just keeps coming to me. I even dream about her sometimes, but it’s kind of hazy, like she’s underwater or something. There’s a house that goes along with her.” I opened my sketchbook to the drawing—a two-story house with a porch on the front and dormer windows. Kind of like Francie’s house.
When Mom saw this picture, she laughed. “I don’t remember her living in such a fancy house, but it might have been hers. I do know it’s not any place we’ve ever lived. Wishful thinking on your part, I’d say.”
“How old was I when we lived in Ohio?”
She considered. “Four or five, I think. It was before you started school—I remember that. I’m surprised you can remember something from so long ago.” She turned back to the television. “James West is really in trouble this time, and I want to see how he gets out of it.” She patted the seat beside her. “Why don’t you sit down and watch the end of the program with me?”
“No, thanks.” Maybe Dad would remember her. I’d ask him when I got a chance.
* * *
A WEEK AFTER I NEARLY fainted while running, Jess handed me a business card. “You have an appointment with Mrs. Terry Johnson after school tomorrow. It’s at the same time that you usually run and lasts for an hour, so you’ll still be able to get a ride home from Mrs. Ivey.”
I stared at the card, panic pushing itself up through my stomach and into my chest. “But I don’t know what to do.”
Jess laughed in a kindly way. “She’ll tell you what to do. Mainly you just talk about what’s bothering you. But you’ll need to get your parents to sign a form saying it’s okay for Mrs. Johnson to see you. Will that be a problem?”
There was no way I would ever ask my parents for permission to see a counselor. Besides the money problem, my dad hated all of that “talking trash.” I’d heard him make fun of it when the subject came up, saying it was just a way to con people out of their hard-earned money.
Jess was waiting for my answer. “Uh, I don’t think we have the money to pay for this.”
He nodded. “I didn’t think so. She said she would see you a few times for free. Will your parents object? Should I call them?”
“No. No, you don’t need to.” I thought fast, trying to figure a way out of this situation. The nightmares weren’t getting better, in spite of my best efforts to stop them. I hadn’t been able to increase my distance in weeks, and Jess and Francie had had to go on the last two long runs without me.
I could forge my parents’ signatures, as I did for most everything else. “All right,” I said, trying to be brave. “I’m sure they’ll sign this tonight.”
Francie ran up to us. “What’s going on?”
I slipped the appointment card into my pocket while Jess said, “Not a thing. Get going. I want you to run five miles today with ten-minute splits.” We all knew he was going easy on us because I was sickly. But the pace worked for me, and Francie didn’t complain. We took off running while he yelled suggestions about our form.
* * *
DURING LUNCH THE NEXT day, I told Francie about the counseling appointment. She nodded. “I know Terry. She’s a friend of my mom’s and a really nice lady. She gave a lecture on dealing with depression to our health class last year. I bet she can help you.”
“Do you think I’m depressed?” I hadn’t thought about that. I didn’t feel depressed, but maybe I was.
“Who knows? But she helps a lot of kids with problems, no matter what they are.”
I had to ask. “Francie, do you think I’m crazy?”
She tilted her head to the side and made a huffing sound. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that? You’re the sanest person I know.”
“Well, something is wrong if I have to see a counselor. The nightmares are terrible and getting worse.”
She was quiet for a minute. “What does your mom say about them?”
I snorted. “She thinks they’re caused by running. According to her, every problem I ever have is either caused by running or by epilepsy. She says they’ll go away if I cut down my miles.” I hadn’t told Francie about the lady whose face came up when I ran or the hours I’d spent drawing her picture. She really would think I was crazy if I told her about that.
Francie chewed a bite of bread, looking thoughtful. “Have you tried not running for a while and seeing what happens?”
I shook my head. “No way. This is my only chance of getting to college and having a different life. You know that.”
She sighed. “Yeah, I know. Would you like me to come with you, then? Would that help?”
“Oh, yeah, that’d be great.” I felt like I was drowning and had just been thrown a life preserver. “Thank you, Francie.”
* * *
THE TWO OF US SAT IN Mrs. Johnson’s waiting room that afternoon. I wasn’t sure I could talk to an adult I didn’t know, and I was shaking so hard I had to dig my feet into the floor to keep from sliding off the couch.
“Will you go in with me?” I asked.
“Uh-uh. This is your special time to speak with her alone. I’ll wait for you right out here.”
“I want you to stay with me.”
“I know, but she won’t let me. You can tell me later what happens.”
I knew I was acting like a baby, but I couldn’t help it. I stared at a painting of the ocean, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. The inner door opened, and a sophomore I recognized came out with a pleasant-looking black woman right behind her. The girl gave us a little wave and blushed before hurrying out.
“Hi, Faye, nice to meet you,” said the woman, shaking my hand. “I’m Terry. You were brave to come today.” She gestured toward her inner office, and I walked in, shoulders slumped, not daring to glance back at Francie. Inside was a small couch with a few chairs grouped around it. Terry said I could sit anywhere. I chose one end of the couch and crossed my legs and arms.
Terry sat in a chair and looked over the forms I’d forged with my mom’s name. She set them aside then focused her gaze on me. “Maybe we could start by your telling me why your coach thought you should come and see me.”
“Because I nearly fainted while I was running.”
“And why was that?”
I knew I should tell her about the nightmares, but I just sat there like a lump. I felt increasingly desperate as the silence stretched out. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t speak frankly to a stranger. I shrugged.
She changed the subject. “Do you like school?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No. Not really.” I wanted to stop talking about stupid topics and tell her what was bothering me, but the words wouldn’t come.
She waited for me to say something else. Was my boyfriend Kyle or Reese? Kyle called me occasionally, and we had good conversations, but that was it. I’d gone out with Reese a couple more times recently. Even though I liked him, I wasn’t wild about him the way I was about Kyle. I didn’t know what to say, so I kept quiet.
Terry rubbed her face, thinking. Then she brightened. “You haven’t been in Valencia long, have you?”
That one, I could answer. “Six months now. It’s one of the longest times we’ve stayed anywhere.” I smiled, and that seemed to break the logjam inside me. We talked for a while about moving. She had moved a lot as a kid, too, and we had that misery in common.
Finally, she asked about sleeping. I took a deep breath, and miraculously, the words came easily. “I have nightmares nearly every night. Usually it’s that I’m alone in the dark, and the smell of pee is so strong that it turns my stomach. And I’m scared. So scared.” I shuddered. “Then I wake up screaming and can’t go back to sleep.”
“That must be terrible,” she said in a tone that told me she believed me and understood. “Have you ever experienced anything like this in real life?”
I started to shake my head, and then something hit me. I remembered that, until I started school, I was so afraid of the dark that I had to sleep with the overhead light on. If Mom tried to turn it off, I would scream until she turned it back on again. Things got better after school started. Funny that I’d forgotten that.
“Faye, are you all right?”
I realized I’d zoned out. “Uh, I guess so.”
“What just happened?”
“I, uh, I get these spells sometimes. I’ve got epilepsy. It’s like I’m on the verge of seeing something, but a black curtain comes down and hides it. Then I have trouble coming back. I’ve had it all my life.”
Terry sat back in her chair. “Do you get these spells all the time? Or does something trigger them?”
I considered that. “No. Not necessarily. But I just remembered that I used to hate sleeping in the dark. I guess I got over it for a while.”
“Do you sleep in the dark now?”
“Yeah. My parents don’t like to keep lights on when they don’t have to. It wastes electricity and costs money.”
She pressed her lips together and was quiet for a moment. “When you think about being in the dark, what else comes up in your mind? Take your time.”
I let my mind wander. After a while, in a flash, I remembered seeing my mom’s face outside a window. She was smiling, but she looked like a monster. I tensed, and the curtain came down again. When I tried to tell this to Terry, I couldn’t speak. My mouth moved, but no words came out.
“All right, stop now. Breathe, and think about something you like to do.”
I thought about running in the fog in the early morning with the doves cooing, frogs croaking, and the cool mist hitting my face. I began to feel slightly better. The memory got clearer over the next few minutes, but I could still feel how scared I’d been when I saw Mom through the window. I didn’t understand why I was so scared of Mom, though. She didn’t look like a monster, even when she’d just woken up in the morning.
All I could figure was that this wasn’t a real memory but something my weird brain had concocted for some reason of its own. I froze up again and had a hard time breathing.
After a while, Terry said, “I’d like you to imagine running in the mist when it’s dark. And know that you are safe. Completely safe. You feel wonderful, running in the dark and being safe.”
It seemed like a strange thing to do, but I gave it a try. As I combined the two thoughts, my throat opened, and after a while, I could breathe more easily.
Terry smiled. “Good job. You’re going to be fine.” She told me to go home and, before I went to sleep, think about running in the mist instead of how afraid I was that I’d have the nightmare.
Over the next few weeks, working with Terry, the nightmares slowed down. They didn’t stop altogether, but I started getting more rest. At her suggestion, I also bought a night-light, and that helped.
I began to feel stronger than I had in months, and I was running fast again. After four visits, I said goodbye to Terry. She told me I could come back anytime if I needed her. I hoped I wouldn’t need her.
* * *
AFTER WE FINISHED OUR workout one Tuesday in early March, Francie brought up the subject of the marathon. “Mom says it’s time to work out the details of our trip. She’s planning on going with us as a chaperone. We should buy our airplane tickets soon. How are you doing for money?”
“Uh, I’m not sure.” Stan paid me well at the carving store, but I spent quite a bit, too. I’d started buying school lunches every day because I needed more food than just cheese crackers. And I’d bought a few new clothes and some makeup. “I think I’m probably close to two hundred fifty dollars.” Unfortunately, I’d been too busy to count my money for a while. I resolved to do it right away.
But the money was a minor problem compared to the major one, which was that I hadn’t yet asked my parents for permission to go to Boston. They’d told me I couldn’t do it the first time I’d asked them, but that was months earlier, when the whole thing was just a distant dream. I needed to ask them for real. I didn’t even want to think about what I’d do if they said no. Whatever happened, I couldn’t put it off much longer.
“Can’t I just run away and leave them a note?”
“Nope,” Francie said. “My mom wants to talk to your mom about it. She’s waiting for you to tell her when would be a good time to call.”
There was no getting around it, then. “Okay. I’ll ask them on Sunday.” They were usually in their best moods on the one day of the week that they had off from work.
“Mom says we can wait to buy the tickets up to about two weeks before the marathon,” said Francie. “Don’t you dare chicken out on me.”
Sunday, then. I had five days to figure out a plan for getting my parents’ permission.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, I OPENED my jewelry box, where I kept my money, and turned it upside down. A fistful of bills fluttered downward and onto the bedspread. Two small drawers at the bottom held coins, and I dumped them onto the bed, too. This was a ritual I loved. When I’d first started earning money, I counted it every Sunday night, placing the bills into separate piles and betting myself which pile would be the highest. The one-dollar pile had always won, but it was fun to anticipate a day when the ten-dollar pile would tower the highest, or maybe the twenty-dollar pile.
Over the past couple of months, I’d been so busy that I’d taken to stuffing my paper money into the jewelry box in random order and keeping most of the coins in my pocketbook. When I wanted money, I’d reach in and pull out whatever amount I needed and then stuff the rest back in.
That night, I realized there were so many bills inside the jewelry box that the lid barely closed. Uh-oh. I would need to take the singles to the bank and exchange them for tens or twenties and possibly find a different hiding place. I didn’t want Mom to know I had this much money until I asked permission to go to Boston.
I performed my regular ritual of placing the bills into piles. As usual, the one-dollar pile was the highest. There were forty-eight ones, seventeen fives, nine tens, and three twenties. The total came to $283, plus more than five dollars in coins. I inhaled sharply, and my eyes filled with tears as it slowly dawned on me that I really had been able to earn enough money for the race just by working at the carving store and occasionally for Mr. Barrett. Saving more than two hundred fifty dollars had seemed impossible the previous fall. If I cut back on my spending, I should be good, even if the airplane ticket and other expenses were higher than Francie had estimated.
I placed the dollar bills in my pocketbook so I could take them to the bank and exchange them for tens. I would definitely ask my parents on Sunday afternoon. They had to know why I was training so hard, and they hadn’t told me I couldn’t do it in quite a while. So they knew about the marathon, and I knew they knew. All we needed to do was talk about it.
I imagined how the conversation would go. The first thing they would say was that they didn’t have the money. And then I would pull out my wad of cash and show it to them. They would be amazed that I could save so much money, and then they would agree that I deserved to go to Boston, especially when it meant getting a scholarship to college. Even though they were worried about me being so far from home, I figured they would be reassured when I told them Laney would be there as a chaperone. I wouldn’t allow myself to consider any other possibility than that they would give me permission. I was sure I could convince them.
But that wasn’t until Sunday. I had other things to think about right then. Before I asked my parents about the marathon, I needed to focus on passing my driver’s test. After waiting so long, the time had finally arrived.