Four Years Ago
SKYLAR, IF YOU’RE LISTENING TO THIS, THEN IT MEANS everything went the way I wanted it to. I know that may be difficult for you to accept—that I actually wanted to let the train catch me. But what you didn’t understand from the first time I walked out on that track was that I was never trying to get away from it. I never wanted to win. I was just working up the courage to let it run me over.
Pollywog, I can see you shaking your head, not believing it. Piper couldn’t be suicidal. That’s what you’re thinking. And you’re right. Ending my life is the last thing I want.
Except.
My life. It’s not right. It didn’t begin like yours. It won’t end like yours either.
I’m sorry if I’m not making sense. I guess I don’t know quite how to explain it. I’ve only begun to understand it myself. Although, that’s not really true. I found out four years ago. It was one of those moments when everything in you goes aha, when so much that has seemed wrong has come right. Not right in a good way. I put the puzzle together. There was some satisfaction in that. But the picture it made . . . I didn’t like that at all.
I think I’m still confusing you. Let me try again. Remember LuAnn’s fairy balls? That was the day I found out. That was the day my life truly ended. That was the day I found out that I was only make-believe.
The fairy ball told me, just as I touched it. Or maybe in the moment after, when everything exploded into that brilliant light. I thought I was dead. It was an actual thought in my head. I could feel my whole body shattering, splitting, and separating, like I was a bomb going off.
This is it. The end.
Those were the exact words in my head. But then the fairy ball whispered to me. “I can’t kill you. We’re the same, you and me. Made of someone else’s magic. That’s us. We’re one and the same.”
Do you know what my response was, Pollywog? “Oh, wow. That makes a lot of sense.”
Finally I understood why no one ever remembered me when I wasn’t standing right in front of them. Do you know why I refused to get my picture taken for the yearbook? Because they always listed me as “unknown.” My real existence was limited to family. You thought everyone stared at me because I was special. You were sort of right. I was always the new girl. I don’t know when I began to resent that. When I started thinking of ways to make them remember me.
Do you think they’ll remember me now, Pollywog? Do you think they’ll know who led them onto that bridge? Do you think for the rest of their lives when they hear the train’s whistle, they’ll recall my name?
I don’t know how long I was out after the fairy ball exploded. Eventually I heard you calling, demanding that I wake up. That I return. So I did.
I know you may find this difficult to believe, Sky. You’ll say I imagined it. That it was a near-death experience. For someone who’s lived their entire life here, you can be so prosaic at times. And tonight, if the train did what I thought it would, then you watched me disappear just like I did when the fairy ball exploded. Except I hope the train, made out of steel instead of magic, will ensure that you won’t be able to put me back together again. If everything went right, then I winked out of existence like a star that had burned out a long time ago.
I can still hear you making excuses: “It was dark. Chaotic.”
So let me remind you that this is not the first time you’ve seen this happen.
Remember when Chance was hit by the train when he was just a puppy? I know you think you do. You’re probably looking at his missing leg right now as the number-one reason you’ll never be able to forget. But Sky, for all your ability to see into everybody else’s heads, you’ve never been much good at navigating your own.
“What do you mean?” I can hear you ask.
What I mean, exactly, is this: you remember things wrong.
Chance was hit by the train. He heard that piercing whistle, and although he’d heard it many times before, for some reason he decided to follow it. We raced after him on our bikes, screaming at him to come back. He’d never been a very obedient dog, though, and that day was no different. By the time we reached the tracks, the train was nearing the station and slowing. Chance started running alongside, eyeing those steel wheels like he was waiting for his moment to take a chunk out of one of them. The final car was about to glide past, when he made his move. It happened so fast. He went in for the wheel. A second later he was gone. There was no blood. No yelp of fear and pain and terror. Chance just disintegrated beneath the wheel. He was there and then he wasn’t.
You couldn’t accept it. We both saw the same thing. We both knew that the dog had been a gift from GG. The moment he disappeared, it became horribly obvious what had happened. GG up to her old tricks. Or maybe just trying to do something kind for her grandchildren. But either way, the result was the same. She made us see something that wasn’t there. She gave us an illusion, and reality killed it.
I tried to explain this to you. I’d never known you to be so stubborn, so unwilling to hear me. You insisted that the train was moving slowly, that he’d slipped underneath. You wanted to search for him. He might be hurt, you kept saying.
It turned into a fight. I called you stupid. You said that I’d always been jealous that he liked you better. It was true. Chance had never taken to me. He slept on your bed but never mine. He would sit patiently, wagging his tail when you pulled him into a crushing hug, but bristled when I simply reached out to gently run my hand along his back.
You accused me of making him run after that train. Of putting the thought into his head.
I slapped you then. You were only seven years old, and I shouldn’t have done it. But we were screaming at each other, with our faces red and our eyes glaring as hard as they could at the other. When you said that I’d made Chance do it, my hand snapped out and caught your cheek before I could even think to stop myself.
You gasped and then went silent. It wasn’t until your hand crept up to touch the spot where I’d hit you that you started to cry.
I could’ve said I was sorry. The truth is, I was. But I was also still angry. And feeling betrayed that you would believe such a thing about me.
I ran away and left you standing there, sobbing.
I didn’t want to go home, so I went into the woods behind Al’s Grocery. Some kids were adding on another section to the fort, and I joined them. When it got dark, everyone started to head home. I was the last one to leave. Not because I was trying to avoid you. No, by then my anger had spent itself, and only regret remained. Finally, I thought about how sad you must be after losing Chance and then having to deal with us fighting on top of that. I wanted to make it up to you.
I started walking home slowly, waiting for the perfect idea to come to me. It finally did when I saw a pile of boxes sitting near the grocery Dumpster. I picked the cleanest-looking one, and practically skipped home. We would have a burial for Chance, I decided. All of his puppy toys would go in the box, then we would hold an elaborate funeral. Finally, we would figure out the perfect place to bury him and spend the rest of the day decorating his grave. It was, I decided, the perfect thing.
And it would’ve been too. I am almost certain of that.
If only Chance had stayed dead.
As I came up the driveway, the burial box tucked under my arm, I heard the sound of a dog barking inside the house. It was the excited, high-pitched bark Chance would use when you dangled a toy over his head and out of reach of his spring-loaded legs.
And when I opened the front door, that was exactly what I saw.
I stood there, staring at Chance, who, despite missing his front right leg, looked no worse for wear.
“Hey,” I said.
You smiled up at me. “Look, Piper. Can you believe it? I found Chance lying in the field by the train station. He was in pretty bad shape, but GG helped me patch him back up.”
I don’t remember what I said then. Something like, “That’s great.” Or, “Wow.”
Really, I was struggling to understand what had happened. The best I can figure is that you brought him back, Skylar. That you willed him back into existence.
Pollywog, I have to admit, that scares me more than a little bit. You hold on so tight. You want so badly for things to be a certain way that you just ignore it when they aren’t.
Sometimes I wish I could be more like that. I wish I could forget what that fairy ball whispered to me.
When I met Elton, I thought that loving him, and having him love me, might be enough. I thought that if he and I got married and had babies and lived happily ever after, it would prove I was real. Remember when Elton and I started getting serious, when he asked me to go steady and we both giggled about him being so old-fashioned? I told you I needed to talk with GG, to get her blessing.
Really, though, I wanted to ask her if what I suspected was true. I wanted to know if at some point I might start to fade away, like a dream that gets fuzzy and worn over time.
GG said she was surprised it had taken me this long to ask. Then she spilled everything. I’d been Mom’s idea. It was after that neighbor boy was taken by the birds. Dad was acting weird. He saw how upset Mom was that something had almost happened to you, and he was jealous. And resentful. Mom was starting to feel the same way, and some part of her knew it was Dad making her feel that way.
And you were inconsolable. You cried day and night. Even years later, Pollywog, you would talk about that boy. “John Paul will be back,” you’d say in your little toddler lisp. “I told him to come back.”
Sometimes, Sky, you can be scary.
I guess Dad thought so too, because one night Mom came into your room and found him holding a pillow over your face.
That’s when she decided you needed someone to watch over and protect you. A dummy child to draw Dad’s attention away from you. The two of them—Mom and GG—dreamed me into existence. GG took a lock of your hair and braided it together and left it in her spare room. The next day I was sitting there, a fully formed four-year-old who was more mature than her age and who drew every eye to herself wherever she went.
GG said that none of her pretend people had ever lasted as long as me, and that she was fairly certain the only reason I still existed was . . . you. You had given me so much more than that lock of hair. Without knowing it, you shared bits of yourself—including your power—and in doing so made me more than just imaginary.
So, that’s what I am.
By now, I hope you aren’t still shaking your head. By now, even you must admit this is the truth. That it makes sense in a Gardnerville kind of way. But that doesn’t mean you will accept me being gone. Oh, Sky, I know how stubborn you are. Now you are saying, “Who cares what you are? Why does it change anything?”
Skylar, did you ever suspect that—like you—I could hear secrets sometimes? Probably not. You didn’t want to know. It made sense that I put thoughts in and you took them out. Two connected but separate powers. It would be messier if we could each do both of those things. We could though.
And that day, talking with GG, I saw the hidden thought that she didn’t say aloud. You’d shared so much with me—given me so much of yourself—that I could take the rest. I could be the real girl, and you would be the shadow.
I wish I hadn’t found that secret.
I wish I could say it wasn’t tempting.
But it was. And it still is.
It is tempting enough that I often start thinking of all the things I’ve done for you. All the times I’ve shielded you from Dad. I’ve even tried to keep you safe from the reformatory. And that’s when I think that maybe you owe me. Maybe it’s my turn to be shielded and kept safe.
But I wouldn’t hurt you for anything, Pollywog.
That’s why things have to change.
I am asking you to let me go.
Remember me, or don’t—if it’s easier that way.
But whatever you do, when the train finds me, please don’t pretend it didn’t happen. Please, let me go.