3-16-05
The Quiet Ones

Spider bites hurt. I was working in the lab, growing plants for some stupid “acid rain” experiment. No, duh, acid’s going to kill the plants! Anyways, it bit me. Sounds like some comic book story, but it’s true. I was bit by an irradiated spider. The Doctor was working on a spider-lizard hybrid, so the thing was pretty big. It’s a wonder I didn’t have a worse reaction. I think it was attracted to the acid-water I was spraying on the plants, but it bit me. My arm started to throb, and, being a bio student, I immediately thought of necrosis or toxic venom. Yikes. 

I don’t know why I trusted that stupid school doctor. He couldn’t care less. ‘Take two ibuprofens and see me in the morning.’ Thanks a lot, doc. I did what he said, although even my third year nursing school roommate could have prescribed that. Taking off my should-have-been-coke-bottle ultra light glasses, I blindly stumbled into bed, my arm a disconcerting beet red color. Through the night, fantastic dreams of huge forests, bigger birds, and the occasional vertigo-inducing drop pervaded my restless slumber.

I awoke feeling not quite normal. You ever have one of those days where you wake up and want nothing more than to slip into your slinkiest dress, apply your heaviest makeup, and go flirt with every guy you see? Think of that on steroids. I was hungry, and not for food.

Flushed, my body seemed poised to explode; my heart racing a thousand times its normal speed and my already semi-toned legs tightened to impossible strength. I actually felt like I had the strength to do what I had always envisioned myself capable of. I had always wanted to run, full out, for more than a few seconds. Before, my brain thought me capable, but my heart told differently. I would run, and, after a few seconds, my heart would try and escape my chest. I was taking in enough air, and my legs weren’t even hurting, but some sense of self-preservation always stopped me when I felt that impossibly high heart rate. If only... 

But now… Now my heart lay within my chest like the soft purring of a sports car, prepared to go as fast as my legs would take me. I stood; automatically slipping into my well-worn jeans and faded black t-shirt. My surplus Army jacket slid around my slim shoulders, its length reaching half-way down my thigh. On the man it was made for, Miller of the 7th Infantry, the shirt would have been just long enough to tuck in, the dangling sleeves would hit at the wrist. I’m only five foot four, so to me it was almost a trench coat. Looking into the mirror, I tied my too long hair back in a severe up-do and rinsed my face. 

I looked up, and something tickled the back of my mind. What was wrong with washing my face? My hands instinctively went to push an errant strand behind my ear and encountered… nothing. No slick plastic hooked behind my ear, no shiny metal framing my view. Nothing. But I could see. No glasses, I was farther than two inches from the mirror, and I could see my face! The breath stopped in my throat. A miracle. An honest to goodness, healing of the sick, laying on of hands, miracle. Thank you God. I repeated in my mind, so very thankful to have that handicap taken from me. Wow, wow, wow. 

“YES!!!” I screamed, joyous. Leaping out of the bathroom, I grabbed the top of the doorframe and swung myself like a little kid on the monkey bars. My arc grew wider as the excitement overwhelmed my self-control, and my bare feet hit the ceiling. They stuck. 

In surprise, I let go of the doorframe. For a moment, my brain reverted to a comforting certainty that I was hanging halfway off the bed and just pretending to be standing on the ceiling. Then the tail of my jacket hit me on the back of my head. I tried to scream, but nothing came out except a pitiful little squeak. Stop. I commanded my racing brain, literally willing myself to rationality. One step at a time. And I took one step at a time, peeling my feet from the bland expanse of white and down the matching wall, crawling the last few steps to the carpet. 

“Okay… Deep breaths. That’s it, just keep breathing.” My brain went into recall convulsions, desperately seeking any precedence for the current events. And, as I sometimes do when thinking particularly hard, I began to sign. My mom said I wouldn’t talk when I was little, only communicating in sign language, so she made me stop. What signs or letters I don’t remember, I guess at. Anyway, my hands were moving as quickly as my thoughts. A pale orange cord shot from my wrist.

“Yipe!” I cried, jumping nearly a foot in surprise. The almost braided thread lay lifelessly on the floor. I tentatively touched it, almost expecting it to move. It was slightly sticky, and, as I examined it, found that it was also very strong. I couldn’t pry… it… off… the… ugh… wall. Gasping with exertion, I gave up. Okay… So now to figure out where it came from. Repeating the sign language alphabet did nothing, so I tried the few signs I knew. Sweet, thank you, sorry, bug, boy, girl, mom, dad, dumb, Jesus, lord, cheese, salt, rain, toilet, play, I love you… At the last, another strand shot towards the ceiling, slapping into place with a wet thunk. 

My analytical mind went into overdrive. This could be… interesting. My bedroom seemed suddenly too small, and the frantic energy resurged with a vengeance. A bright idea popped into my head. A way to remain anonymous and still test out my new found powers. My Spider-girl mask. A few Halloweens ago, I had dressed up as a female version of Spider-man; blue and red tights, a spider-webbed crop top, and a small black-red mask. The costume was out of the question; it had been tight and revealing two years ago, and I shuddered to think how my newly toned body would appear in the strategically cut outfit. But the mask would work. Snatching it from the wall, where I had used it for a decoration in my blindingly white room, I snapped it into place and strode out the door. 

My bare feet slapped loudly on the pavement, so I decided not to use it. With barely an effort, I hopped onto the wall of my apartment building. It was cleaner up here, anyway. Scuttling, for I did scuttle- crawling forward with amazing speed- I leapt from my second floor stairwell and landed without a scratch, instinctively knowing that I could do so. A few steps to the science building, and then I was in. I stood in the long hallway looking into the gym, the Plexiglas wall between the two scratched and battered. 

One of my teachers, cute but with a definite short-man-syndrome, played a mean game of basketball with five of my classmates. I saw the tall red-headed guy look up, momentarily puzzled by my mask. Cheekily, I waved and leapt up on the glass. His jaw practically scraped the floor as his unknowing teammates screamed his name in confusion. I moved slowly down the hall, watching his wide eyes follow my every movement. His open mouth finally moved and I saw the Prof look at him with a puzzled tilt to his head. In unison, all five men turned towards me. I waved again, silently smirking. I just love messing with guys’ heads. 

Deciding to torture them further, I blew a stream of hot breath across the glass. Writing backwards in the fog, I asked a simple one word question.

RACE?

I’d never seen a group of men stand so still. I cocked my head and grinned, egging them on. No one moved. I decided to go for drastic measures. A come hither gesture from one too many romance novels and I got a response. My all too cocky teacher paled to a sickly green, three boys stood there like statues, my first conquest looked like he might take me up on my offer, but it was the quiet one that did. 

He wasn’t shy, just quiet, and I had taken a creative writing course with him once, so I knew he was funny, but he didn’t seem the type to… respond so quickly. Truth be told, I had somewhat of a crush on him- Eric- not unlike the vivid images of make-out sessions with the Prof that I quickly tamped down. His dark hair gave him a deceptively brooding appearance, and, although he was not particularly tall, he still offered a certain amount of comforting protection. His long legs, so unlike the stubby legs that the men in my family have, swallowed the ground beneath him. The double doors behind me opened wide, and he stepped out like some refugee from a Clint Eastwood movie. I nodded slowly as he sauntered to my side, seeping feigned confidence from every pore. 

“Where to?” He asked, his deep voice rumbling in the silence. The guys still watched us; I could feel them like an itch too subliminal to be scratched. 

“End of the hall. First to touch the door,” I responded, my voice coming out deceptively soft.

“What do I get if I win?” Eric asked, finally looking into my dark eyes.

“What do you want?” I whispered in response, feeling the air around us rise by several degrees. I expected him to cough, or at least flush, but he stood firm. 

“I want to know who you are, and how you can do that.”

“And if I win?” I asked, fighting to hide the mischievous grin that longed to escape.

He thought for a second. “I’ll do anything you want,” he said finally, his face a mask.

“Anything?” I asked breathily, interesting thoughts worming their way into my mind.

He finally flushed and cleared his throat before responding. “Almost anything,” he revised.

“Agreed,” I concluded. “On three.” He nodded and set his feet. “One… Two… Three!” We’re off.

Pounding thumps, gasping breath, and the subtle rustle of clothing. The door grew closer, the hall longer, and then a shout of victory.

“Yes!” He cried out, crashing into the door with all his momentum. He looked to the side, expecting to see me trailing behind. Nothing. I chuckled. 

“No,” I said simply as he looked up, my fingers splayed across the top of the door as I clung effortlessly to the ceiling. His eyes widened in surprise, our faces only inches apart. Mmm, even his sweat smelled good. I had the strangest instinct to kiss him, passionately. An ironic voice in my head urged me on, remarking how I had won, and he did say anything…

We stayed like that for a few seconds, and I was the one who finally looked away. I crept my way back to the wall where we could talk eye to eye. 

“I won,” I whispered, not even winded. 

“What do you want?” He asked, a trace of panic in his eyes. I’m not really sure what he expected me to ask for. The only thing I could think of was him. But I couldn’t just come out and say it; I’m certain he would take it a completely different way then I meant. I want you. Sheesh. But I did…

“Stay with me,” I said, hope and heartache vying for prominence. He looked at me in confusion.

“Just today,” I clarified. “Just for awhile.” He nodded slowly. 

I threw a glance over my shoulder, almost laughing at the expressions on the men’s faces. An odd mix of uncertainty, envy, and fear blended together to form a five part masterpiece of the male Id. Hopping down from the wall, I blew them a kiss as I sauntered out the door, purposefully swaying my hips. Eric followed, his look of bewilderment strangely endearing. 

A quick perusal of the school, and I had my target. The Colville Center. The tallest building in sight, its protruding dome struck me as an appropriate place to discuss… things. The nearly empty sidewalks, for it wasn’t yet the half hour mark, provided ample opportunity for my escort and I to give our undivided attention to recent events. While I quietly mulled over my sudden upsurge in brashness, contemplating whether it was the mask or the bite that so freed my inhibitions, my companion seemed content with examining me. As we reached the building, his piercing stare finally breached my self-enclosed preponderance. 

“What?” I asked in mild annoyance. He opened his mouth, but seemed to reconsider.

“Where are we going?” He finally asked in response.

“Up.”

He looked up, and up, and up. It seemed much larger up close. “How…” His voice cracked for a moment and then continued. “How will I get… up?” 

I quickly decided to surprise him. Without a word, I raised my hand and aimed for the crowning. It wasn’t necessary to use the full sign, the movement itself triggered it, and the orange strand struck perfectly. I didn’t look to see his reaction as I pulled myself up the rope. Reaching the top in seconds, I looked down. Eric’s stunned face gaped up at me. 

“Well, come on,” I said impatiently. He stood frozen at the bottom. With a sigh, I slid back down the rope. “Okay, what’s wrong?” 

“Um…” He looked embarrassed. “I don’t think I can. I had an accident in high school, and I can’t put my full weight on my right arm.” 

“Oh,” I muttered, deflated. Several ideas floated around my head, and then the proverbial light bulb appeared. I scrambled back up the rope and planted my feet firmly.

“Grab the end and hold on!” I shouted down to him. He looked puzzled, but complied.

“Okay!” He shouted.

I pulled. He must have weighed at least 160, maybe 170 pounds, but I steadily pulled up the rope, not even really struggling. He had his eyes closed; I had to chuckle. I can imagine how he felt, though. I felt the same way when my brother picked me up and carried me around. Utterly helpless. I cleared my throat.

“I think you can take it from here,” I muttered as he opened his eyes. He pulled himself over the edge and looked down. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. Turning towards me, a look of what might have been desperation or maybe a fearful sort of dependency escaped his hazel eyes. Not quite sure how to respond, because it was not fear that I wanted to engender, I picked my way up the steep sides of the dome. Again, I could hear nothing but silence behind me, and I turned. Eric slid down the dome, his fingers searching for a purchase in smooth metal. I turned and, without a word, returned to him.

“Here,” I said gently, offering my hands. He looked at my small outstretched digits doubtfully. “Trust me.”

His much larger palms touched mine and I felt a mild shock. Maybe static from the metal. Backing away, we climbed the dome and reached the top. A little spire sat in the center and I led him towards it. He grabbed it like a lifeline as I reluctantly released his hands. The gray haze of a cloudy day thankfully spared us from molten metal heat, and we sat, him only semi-comfortably, on the slightly stooped tip of the dome. 

The view was magnificent. The cultured grass of the campus turned softly to a marshy meadow and, in the distance, thick trees sprouted glassy office buildings tipped by waving flags. Unconsciously, I sighed and settled back to lean against him. As I felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt, I froze. Would he pull away? After a few moments, I relaxed. He hadn't moved. It was nice, this being with someone. I had always sat alone on roof tops, in my trees, in the highest place with the grandest view and the strongest breeze. As if that breeze, that view, made me a little less lonely, a little closer to the strangers I passed every day. I had never, not once, had someone to enjoy it with- until now.

I peeked back at him and was captured. Despite everything I had done to him -embarrassed him, beat him, lifted him, helped him- he was looking at me with that look. The only-in-the-movies, must-be-love, never-going-to-happen-to-me look. I almost believed, almost fell for it, and then it was shattered.

"Who are you?" He asked, and I felt my heart crumple. Don't cry. Don't cry. Love. Ha. I knew what he was in "love" with. The mask, the mystery, the mystique. I always wondered why guys drooled over women who could kick their behinds. I looked down, pulling from him in disgust, hopefully hidden by my sudden standing. 

"You lost,” I said, coldness oozing from my tight control as I crossed my arms protectively over my chest. I could hear the rustle of his jeans as he stood up behind me. I was about to take a step away, and then I felt his hand on my shoulder. He pulled gently. I turned to face him, not daring to meet his eyes lest it break the tenuous control I held over my tears. His hand dropped to his side and we stood there silently.

"Where do you go?" I heard him ask softly, voice almost carried away by the wind. I felt my head cock in a questioning manner, my instinctive reaction left in charge because of the full control my rational mind was using to enforce my no emotion command. 

"You walk around the track once, stretch, continue- maybe play a little B-ball, always alone- and then you disappear. You don't go towards the school or the dorms..." He trailed off as I looked up in astonishment. 

"I... I have a tree I like to climb. It helps me think. You were watching?" He only nods. "But... but why do you keep asking who I am? You obviously know,” I said, not yet trusting this odd new information.

"I still don’t have your name,” he responded, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "No one knows you, except maybe the writing teacher we had, but what do I do, go up and ask him what was the name of the girl that sat in the back of his class last semester?" Sarcasm stained his words.

"You could have asked me."

"I was afraid to! You're always alone, you hardly say two words when somebody does talk to you, you walk around like you're in a world of your own, and when you do talk in class you sound like you swallowed an encyclopedia! I was afraid you'd run away!" His voice grew louder as his frustration increased. 

I cringed. That was me alright. I could feel the mask lose its power as the real me reemerged. I opened my mouth to respond, but, like normal, the only thing that came to my head was an oddly practiced-sounding speech. Don't respond. Just shut-up and take it. What's the worst he could say? That he hated me? That he'd only seen me because of some sick fascination, like an almost extinct species of prehistoric fish? Gagh, even my thoughts sound practiced. Don't think.

"I know! Don't you think I know?! The only time I even feel like a human being is when I write! And what good does it do me? If I was a musician, I would play so beautifully that people would stop in the streets. If I was an artist, they would ooh and ahh for hours admiring just one paint stroke. If I was even an athlete, I would win game after game, the crowd cheering me on. But what recognition does a writer get? I write alone, they read alone, that's it. No cheers, no applause, and if you dare write something with substance, who reads it? Not ‘normal’ people! No one reads anymore- nothing but a select few of overrated classics or garishly covered dime store novels. So, maybe you can understand why I'm not as popular as other people. I am an artist with invisible ink, a violinist with a rubber band, an athlete with no legs. I am who I am! Just because I express myself in a way that is not as popular as others doesn't mean I'm any less important! And, frankly, I don't need anyone, especially you!" I stomped away, leapt from the dome to the edge of the building, and stopped as I heard his voice.

"Wait!" He cried, trapped on top of the dome. I tinkered with the idea of stranding him there but finally moved towards him. 

"Come on,” I said emotionlessly, holding out my hands in his general direction. I felt his fingers on mine and was shocked again. His thumb caressed my palm, moving in gentle circles.

"I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

"I'm already gonna help you down, so you don't have to say anything,” I said harshly, finally looking up at his face. 

"I shouldn't have said what I did. It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I was afraid, but not of you. I was afraid you didn't like me, so I gave myself every excuse I could think of. I was angry at myself for my cowardice. Angry that you had to make the first move." Now we had switched, as he avoided my eyes. His thumb continued its circles, as if almost afraid to stop. 

I knew I probably shouldn't, but I melted. The anger and shame ebbed from me, and I was left empty and wordless. He took a step forward, leaving himself in the mercy of my arms. Daring to release one of my hands, he reached towards my mask. I closed my eyes as it slipped off, and I never wanted to open them again. My protection gone, I cracked my eyes open by sheer will power. That look had returned to his eyes. My heart hiccupped as he leaned towards me. 

"Your name?" 

"Ally."

"Nice to meet you, Ally. I'm Eric."

"I know, Eric."

He kissed me. He was soft, pliant, perfect, and I responded, years of pent-up passion releasing in one nova-like moment. He pulled away, finally, and caught his breath. I wanted to kiss him again, but the burning in my muscles forced us to reposition before we continued. I practically dragged him down the dome and onto the level roof. My reticent nature was overwhelmed by some newly awakened need, and I pulled him to my lips. This time I pulled away to catch my breath and giggled insanely. He looked at me, eyebrow raised. I couldn't stop laughing, but managed to choke out the joke.

"It’s -ha ha- the quiet ones you have to -ha- watch out for!" His smile turned into a laugh, deep and loud, so different from my nearly silent convulsions. He set me off again, and I had to hold my ribs in pain as our laughs finally slowed. 

"Ow, ow, ow,” I gasped out between chuckles. "Okay, we have to stop. I can't breathe."

"I can fix that,” Eric said with a smile as we kissed once more.

"How did that help?" I asked into his shirt as I held him close.

"I don't know, but it felt good."

"Yah,” I said dreamily and laughed at myself.

"Um, can we go down now? I'm not much on heights,” he asked into my hair. I laughed again and looked up in amazement.

"And you came up here?! Why?"

"Hey, it was worth a shot. I could get lucky,” he said mischievously. I hit his arm playfully.

"Great reason,” I responded similarly. "My rope should still be here... Ah, there we go." 

We reached the place we'd come up, and I was trying to analyze that ‘get lucky’ comment, when I heard a scream- a shrill shriek of terror- and a gunshot. My senses went into overdrive.

"Ally..." Eric said cautiously.

"Stay here, Eric. I'll be right back," I said before he could move, sliding down the strand in moments. I took one last look back at his silhouette as I ran towards the sounds.

	*			*			*

The man- the boy- stood there, his entire wiry frame shuddering, as he tried to hold the gun steady. I'm no gun expert, but the thing looked huge held by the shivering hands of its owner. He was one of those boys, the ones that try to look older than they really are; perfectly styled, modern haircut, and wispy goatee sprouting from his chin. 

The students had thankfully scattered, fleeing from every doorway available. Now it was just me, him, and her. She was a teacher, that much I could tell, her notes were clasped tightly to her chest, as if they would block a bullet. Her left hand sported a large wedding ring, and, for a moment, I wondered if this was a robbery gone awry. My illusions shattered when I heard him speak.

"I just don't understand! Why don't you want to be with me anymore?! I did everything you wanted! I loved you!" My jaw dropped at his words. Surely...

"Dylan, I'm married. Dan and I had some problems, but we're trying to work them out, and I can't continue our relationship at the same time. Try to understand!" The teacher implored, backed into a corner.

"Understand! I understand all right! I understand that you got what you needed, and now you just want to forget about us! Well, I can't just forget!" Dylan screamed, aiming the pistol. 

From my proverbial fly-on-the-wall position I could see his finger tighten around the trigger and knew I had to do something. I leapt for the gun. From the teacher's angle I know it looked strange, my practically miniature form poised against the hulking six foot height of Dylan. I grabbed the gun, pulling it up and away, but not fast enough. 

BAM. A cannon shot went off in my ear. My hand released the gun, and I stumbled backwards. It wasn't until I was staring up at the ceiling that I realized something was wrong. 

"Ally!!!" I heard Eric scream. 

"I didn't mean to! She grabbed it and it went off! I didn't mean to," Dylan finished in a whimper. 

I heard the thwack of fist hitting skin and then running footsteps. Eric.

"Ally. Oh, God. Ally. Can you hear me?" Eric pleaded, his hand hovering over my chest as if unsure where to land. "Call 911!" He shouted towards the teacher. 

I heard a whimper and saw him look away. 

"You stay right where you are," Eric commanded threateningly, holding up the gun. Oh, good. I wondered where it had gone. "Ally, Ally hold on, okay? Just hold on." I tried to move, to comfort him; he looked so scared. Pain.

"Augh!" I cried out involuntarily. Tears sprung to my eyes and clouded my vision. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. "It hurts," I whimpered. "Eric, make it stop. Make it stop hurting," I begged, tears escaping and rolling down my cheeks, leaving my eyes clear once more. He looked scared, and sad, and angry. 

The pain ebbed a bit. "I'm sorry," I said automatically, not quite sure what I was apologizing for. Getting hurt? Crying? "I won't cry anymore," I whispered, forcing the pain to a place beyond feelings.

"Shh, shh," Eric whispered, holding my face in his hand. "It's okay to cry. You can cry. I know it hurts. Don't worry; I'll get someone to help you. Just stay with me." I looked at him, really looked, and saw more compassion than I thought was possible. He didn't make fun of my tears, wasn't annoyed or confused by them, and, in fact, he supported them. It was okay to cry. I smiled and cried and felt the warmth of his hand against my face. I was cold...

	*			*			*

He was bent over, hands folded, in the hard plastic chair. I watched him, breathing in his scent. He was shaking. Waves of movement rolled up his spine, curved around his hunched shoulders, and jerked his head. He wiped at his face. He was crying; silent tears that lay hidden deep within the all-consuming blackness of his shadow. 

"Eric?" I rasped out, my voice sounding as dry and cracked as my throat felt. He looked up and the sorrow on his face dripped away with his tears, leaving only joy behind.

"Ally? Ally, you're okay! Thank God!" He collapsed over me, practically lifting me from the thin hospital mattress. He loosened his grip suddenly and lowered me down as if I would break. "I bet you're thirsty, let me get you some water," he said quickly, filling a glass with the nearby pitcher. "Your family just left, I need to call them, and I should tell the nurse, and..."

I cut him off. "Eric, Eric calm down. It's okay, everyone will wait," I said, sipping at the glass of water. "What I want to know is- what happened?" He looked uncomfortable.

"I slid down the rope and followed you, but, by the time I got there, you and Dylan were fighting, and then there was a shot, and I saw you fall back..." His voice broke. "I punched Dylan and took the gun. He could have shot me too, but I wasn't thinking. I had to help you. And then I went over to you, and you were bleeding so bad, and I didn't know what to do..." He broke off and looked away, fighting tears.

"It's okay to cry. I know it hurts," I whispered. He looked up at me, surprised.

"Yah," he said. I smiled at him. "Oh, Ally, I thought I was going to lose you," he cried out, hugging me once more. "You smiled at me and then you closed your eyes and I thought... And when you got here we were all so worried, even the doctors, and you've been out for two days, and I haven't slept yet, so that's why I'm rambling..." He trailed off, pushing his face into my good shoulder. I rubbed his head as best I could with the I.V. in.

"You haven't slept in two days?" I asked quietly. He shook his head, still lodged in my neck. Moving hesitantly, I slid over in the bed. He looked up worriedly as I moved. Arranging the tubes and wires carefully, I patted the empty space beside me and smiled.

"Are you sure?" Eric asked, throwing a glance towards the door. I nodded. He thought for a moment, and then he slipped off his shoes and crawled into bed. It took him long minutes to assure himself he wasn't blocking anything vital, but he finally laid down. He faced me, eye level, and my toes just brushed his knees through the jeans and sheet. He kissed me, softly, chastely, and left his forehead pressed against mine.

"Sleep," I commanded gently, the darkness under his eyes plainly evident. He closed his eyes obediently and fell asleep holding my hand.

END