Read Online A Little Friendly Advice by Siobhan Vivian - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Siobhan Vivian
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about is my dad. All I can smell are his cigars. “Let’s talk about whatever we were just talking about, okay? Please just say something.”
Charlie turns his head and looks over his shoulder, then back at me, totally confused.
He probably thinks I’m crazy. He’s probably right. Another couple of tears drip free, though I beg them to stay put. I try to say something, I don’t even know what, but my throat closes off in a way that feels frighteningly familiar. It’s not the house. It’s everything else, all at once, crushing me. Everything I was hoping to escape tonight, forever. Charlie puts his gum back into his pocket. When he ducks his head, my old house appears behind him again, this time impossibly close. Like it picked itself up and moved a few feet closer. Like it’s chasing me.
The dog gets up and shuffles away from us because our petting has become lazy. His movement clicks on a bright floodlight overhead, illuminating our stage. The background disappears in stark blackness, and my eyes squint to allow my pupils time to adjust.
“Ruby! We’re leaving!” Beth calls from nearby.
I try to say sorry as I stand up, but I don’t know if he hears me. Then I run into the blackness, gripping Beth’s voice, letting the wind dry my eyes along the way. Charlie calls after me, but I don’t stop. Even though running seems to do me no good at all these days.
It started a few months after he’d left.
Beth had a trundle bed, which was awesome for sleepovers. I never had to slum it in a sleeping bag on the floor, or spoon myself next to her and wrestle all night for covers. This bed was designated for me, the best friend, and I used it a lot — spending the night at least once every weekend and even a few times during the week, when I was particularly depressed and Mom didn’t know what to do with me. Beth’s home was my sanctuary then — always crowded with her two sisters and forever the right temperature of warm, the kind that made me drowsy.
That night was perfect. We’d gone bowling with her family and ate so much pizza we nearly barfed. Then Beth and I rented a bunch of our favorite movies, and Mr. Miller brought up a TV and VCR and set it up on her dresser for us. While we watched, we counted coins from the big bottle full of Miller family spare change. Beth’s mom wanted to get it to the bank and said we were allowed to keep half of however much we counted and rolled. My hands smelled sharp and metallic, and no matter how much I scrubbed them, I couldn’t wash away the smell. But I didn’t even care. I fell asleep completely content and twenty-seven dollars richer.
It shouldn’t have happened, not on a night as nice as that one.
It wasn’t a typical nightmare either. I wasn’t being chased by a serial killer. I didn’t have to escape a fire. For the most part, everything was fine. Our house, our family. Mom, Dad, and I putting together a puzzle in the living room.
But when my dad couldn’t find a particular puzzle piece from the pile, one with an edge, he suddenly got angry. He stood up and began grabbing his records from the living room shelf, while Mom kept on looking for pieces like everything was fine. I started to get worried, nervous. She handed me a puzzle piece and told me everything was going to be fine. So I forgot about Dad and started looking for an empty spot on the board.
The dream Ruby had no idea what was coming. And the dreamer Ruby, floating somewhere in the air like a ghost, unable to speak or communicate in any way, could do nothing to warn her of what was about to happen.
I woke up screaming.
Beth leapt out of bed and crouched next to me, asking what happened. Her hand touched my shoulder and she looked at her wet palm quizzically. I was completely soaked with sweat, and my legs were shaking so bad it made the sheet waver.
Beth gave me a fresh nightgown to wear. Not a crappy one, but her second-best one, with the tiny pink and blue hearts and the lace trim. I got
Charlie turns his head and looks over his shoulder, then back at me, totally confused.
He probably thinks I’m crazy. He’s probably right. Another couple of tears drip free, though I beg them to stay put. I try to say something, I don’t even know what, but my throat closes off in a way that feels frighteningly familiar. It’s not the house. It’s everything else, all at once, crushing me. Everything I was hoping to escape tonight, forever. Charlie puts his gum back into his pocket. When he ducks his head, my old house appears behind him again, this time impossibly close. Like it picked itself up and moved a few feet closer. Like it’s chasing me.
The dog gets up and shuffles away from us because our petting has become lazy. His movement clicks on a bright floodlight overhead, illuminating our stage. The background disappears in stark blackness, and my eyes squint to allow my pupils time to adjust.
“Ruby! We’re leaving!” Beth calls from nearby.
I try to say sorry as I stand up, but I don’t know if he hears me. Then I run into the blackness, gripping Beth’s voice, letting the wind dry my eyes along the way. Charlie calls after me, but I don’t stop. Even though running seems to do me no good at all these days.
It started a few months after he’d left.
Beth had a trundle bed, which was awesome for sleepovers. I never had to slum it in a sleeping bag on the floor, or spoon myself next to her and wrestle all night for covers. This bed was designated for me, the best friend, and I used it a lot — spending the night at least once every weekend and even a few times during the week, when I was particularly depressed and Mom didn’t know what to do with me. Beth’s home was my sanctuary then — always crowded with her two sisters and forever the right temperature of warm, the kind that made me drowsy.
That night was perfect. We’d gone bowling with her family and ate so much pizza we nearly barfed. Then Beth and I rented a bunch of our favorite movies, and Mr. Miller brought up a TV and VCR and set it up on her dresser for us. While we watched, we counted coins from the big bottle full of Miller family spare change. Beth’s mom wanted to get it to the bank and said we were allowed to keep half of however much we counted and rolled. My hands smelled sharp and metallic, and no matter how much I scrubbed them, I couldn’t wash away the smell. But I didn’t even care. I fell asleep completely content and twenty-seven dollars richer.
It shouldn’t have happened, not on a night as nice as that one.
It wasn’t a typical nightmare either. I wasn’t being chased by a serial killer. I didn’t have to escape a fire. For the most part, everything was fine. Our house, our family. Mom, Dad, and I putting together a puzzle in the living room.
But when my dad couldn’t find a particular puzzle piece from the pile, one with an edge, he suddenly got angry. He stood up and began grabbing his records from the living room shelf, while Mom kept on looking for pieces like everything was fine. I started to get worried, nervous. She handed me a puzzle piece and told me everything was going to be fine. So I forgot about Dad and started looking for an empty spot on the board.
The dream Ruby had no idea what was coming. And the dreamer Ruby, floating somewhere in the air like a ghost, unable to speak or communicate in any way, could do nothing to warn her of what was about to happen.
I woke up screaming.
Beth leapt out of bed and crouched next to me, asking what happened. Her hand touched my shoulder and she looked at her wet palm quizzically. I was completely soaked with sweat, and my legs were shaking so bad it made the sheet waver.
Beth gave me a fresh nightgown to wear. Not a crappy one, but her second-best one, with the tiny pink and blue hearts and the lace trim. I got
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