Listen To Me

LISTEN TO ME

The first time it happened, I didn’t pay attention. I’ve learned, since then, that’s not a good idea.

I was maybe nine years old, walking home from the bus, thinking about a project that I had to work on for school the next day. I was alone because my stop was the last stop on the route, and Henry Bonners (pronounced Baw-ners, not Boners, like the kids at school called him) and I were the last kids off the bus. Henry’s house was at one end of the street, and mine at the other, and Mrs. Brown, the bus driver, always dropped us off in the middle. Anyway, I was walking home, mind on homework, when I looked up and saw this girl walking towards me. I was surprised. First, because I was the only girl who lived at this end of the street. And second, because I recognized her, but I didn’t know from where. But I knew that face.

I must have looked confused because she smiled when she got close to me, and pointed at my feet.

“You better tie your shoe.”  

That was all she said to me. She just kept walking away towards the top of the street where the Bonners lived. I twirled around to watch her go, but my one foot was standing on the untied shoelace, and when I turned, I got all caught up, and fell on my knees in the street. I yelped in pain. Both my knees were scrapped, and a particularly sharp stone had ripped a jagged cut on my knee, which was now bleeding freely.  I looked up the street. The girl was gone. I hobbled home, blood running down my leg. Mom’s shift at the hospital ended at three, so she was home before me today. I limped into the house.

“Mom, who was that girl? I think I know—”

“Becs! What happened to your knee?”

I looked down. Blood was now pooling in my shoe.

“Oh, I tripped over my shoelace.” I looked back at my mom. “But, who was that girl?”

“What girl? There’s no girl. But we need to clean up your knee.”

“Did you see her? Was she here?”

“There was no girl, Becs. You’re the only girl here.”

She helped me up to sit on the counter and put my knee over the sink. Using the spray hose she gently washed away the blood and the dirt.

“Not too bad,” she said, “but I’m going to have to stitch that cut up. It’s pretty deep.” 

I was used to this. My mom was a surgeon. She always wanted to sew things up.

After she finished she looked closely at my knee. “I think you’re gonna have a scar.”

And she was right. I have a little lightning bolt scar on my left knee. A reminder of the first time I saw the girl.

For a few days I wondered about the girl. I looked for her every time I walked down the street. She had to live around here, right? Why else would she be on my street? There were no other streets past ours. We were surrounded by the forest. She had to live at one of the other houses.

But, after a few days, I forgot about her, and moved on, living my best nine-year old life.

The next time that I saw the girl was in high school.  

We were seventeen and eighteen that year, and the whole world was in front of us. We thought we were invincible. But we also took a lot of risks. A teenager’s pre-frontal cortex is not matured until maybe twenty-five. Why is that important? Because the pre-frontal cortex is the decision-making centre of the brain. It’s the reason that teenagers make such devastatingly poor choices. Like jumping off the roof into a swimming pool, or having unprotected sex, or drinking and driving.  

It was near the end of the school year, late spring, almost summer. There had been a few hang outs and small house parties, but mostly just a few friends getting together at a cottage, or when someone’s parents had gone away for the weekend. But the coming weekend was supposed to be the senior big bush party where all the grads got together to celebrate the end of high school. It was our last hurrah with all our friends — the group would be splintering off for summer jobs then either university, college, or work. It was our last celebration before that giant step into quasi-adulthood. 

That Wednesday I was at school, in the washroom alone, washing my hands.  

“Make sure you go to the party.”

I looked in the mirror to see who had spoken.

I stared. It was me. Not just like me, but me. There were two of us in the mirror at the same time, and we were exactly the same. Was I losing my mind? Was I hallucinating? Was this some sort of elaborate joke?”

“Who are you?” I stammered. “No, check that. You’re me,” I whispered to the other person in the mirror. “How?”

I turned to face her.

The other me smiled, and repeated, “Don't take the extra shift on Saturday. Go to the bonfire.”

Then she turned and walked out of the washroom.

I stood there, staring after her.

What had just happened? Then I remembered the day on the road when I was nine, the warning about my shoelaces. My knee ached where my thunderbolt scar was. I remembered thinking at the time that I knew that girl, that she was familiar. Could it have been the same “me”? I was flummoxed. Was I going crazy?

The next day Lea, my boss at the pizza restaurant where I worked, called while I was at softball practice. She left a message saying she needed someone for Saturday evening. I needed the money — I was going to university in the fall, and wanted to buy a car. Then I stopped and considered. What did it mean? I remembered the last time I didn’t listen to — what should I call her? My doppelgänger? Me? Becs 2.0? She/me? — had warned me about something, and I hadn’t listened. But more importantly, how had she known the that Lea was going to need me to work?

When I got home, I went into my room, shut the door, and considered. Was she/me real? And if so, how could that be? It was confusing and I was at a loss. I considered talking to my dad, who was a paediatric psychiatrist, but I was actually afraid that he would have me committed. No, not just afraid, but terrified. If I was losing my mind, then he was honour-bound to do the best thing for me, which I was sure would be involuntary incarceration at the psychiatric facility of his choice.

No, I wouldn’t tell him. Or anyone. I decided instead to forget it. I know, I know, an ostrich with its head in the sand can still be eaten by a lion, but what was I supposed to do?

Saturday night came, and my friend Jenna came to pick me up. I was excited. We were going to THE bush party. My parents sorta knew what was going on, but didn’t forbid me from going. That only led to sneaking out and lying. They trusted me.

“If your ride has been drinking, call us and we’ll come to get you,” said my mom.

“No questions asked. We’ll go get the car in the morning,” finished my dad.

“If you don’t feel safe, call us and we’ll come get you,” said my mom.

“And remember,” said my dad, “we love you and trust you.”

“Be safe,” said my mom as I shut the front door, and headed for Jenna’s car.

We were so excited. This was our first end-of-the-school-year giant bush party. When we got to the site, there were so many cars that we had to walk fifteen minutes before we could get near the bonfire. There were hundreds of teens there, and from the varsity jackets being worn, not all were from our school. Jenna and I each got a beer and started milling around the site, gravitating towards the giant bonfire in the centre. It was still early, so the mayhem hadn’t begun yet. No one was drunk, no one was crying, no one was vomiting. So far, so good.

We wandered around, talking to people that we recognized from school. You remember how it was — kids you wouldn’t usually talk to were now cool because they were standing around a bonfire drinking beers. If you had a drink in your hand, you were having a good time. I only had one beer, and just put water in my Solo cup after that. Jenna had a second beer. We’d agreed earlier that if one of us had too much to drink, the other would drive. It looked like I was the designated driver, tonight. I didn’t mind. I don’t particularly like drinking, and it’s sort of a peer pressure thing with me — if my friends are drinking, then I should be drinking. Hence the Solo cup full of water.  

Jenna and I snagged two seats on a log in front of the bonfire. It was late spring but the air was chilly, and the fire felt good.  Someone brought a guitar and started playing. A guy neither of us knew sat down beside Jenna and started chatting her up. And getting her beers. Jenna was flattered. I was wary. When I told her that I thought, maybe she should slow down, she assured me it was ginger ale, not beer. But she was slurring, her eyes couldn't focus, and her head lolling on her shoulders. She was really drunk. I told her to give me her keys. She accused me of being jealous of her new “man” Kiefer — I’m not sure that she knew her “man’s” last name — but gave them up, just the same. I left Jenna to get her some water, making her promise not to go anywhere. I didn’t trust Kiefer. He was older, and no one I talked to knew who he was.

When I got back, Jenna was gone.  

Shit!  

I spun around, looking at the crowd. Lots of faces that I knew, and lots of faces I didn’t. But no Jenna. And no Kiefer. I started moving into the crowd, asking people if they’d seen Jenna. Someone said she’d taken off with some guy, towards the parking lot and the cars. I started that way.  

“Go back the other way, to the back of the lot” said someone in my ear.

I turned, and there she/I was. My heart flopped. I’d decided to ignore her/my existence, but it was super hard with her whispering in my ear. I looked around, no one else seemed to notice.

“Jenna. She’s in trouble. Hurry!” She pointed towards the thick forest at the back of the site.

I started to run towards the back of the property. I turned to ask where to go, and she/I was gone. I didn’t know which way to go. I stood staring at the trees.

“You looking for Jenna?” 

I turned to look. There was a guy from school that I recognized, kinda. Todd? Tad? Tim? I wasn’t sure.

“Yeah.”

“She just went in there, with some rando.”

He pointed to the left. I turned towards a small path, and started to move.

“Thanks,” I said, walking quickly.

”I’ll go with. The guy she was with was sorta dragging her into the woods.  Jenna looked out of it. I just about to follow them to make sure she was all right. But that’s kinda creepy if she wanted to be with him.” He shrugged, looking confused.

“Come on, let’s go,” I said, moving towards the path.

We both entered the forest, looking and listening. It was dark, but we could still hear the party going full tilt, behind us. We walked forward, trying to find Jenna.

Then we heard it.

“No! No! Stop!”

“Shut up!” And the sound of a slap.

We rushed forward, and came to a clearing.

There was Jenna, laying on the ground, her shirt ripped, and Kiefer in the process of trying to pull down her pants. His pants were already undone.

Kiefer didn’t see us.

“GET OFF OF HER!” I yelled, running towards my friend.

“What the fu—”

He didn’t have a chance to finish. Tyler — I’d remembered his name — tackled Kiefer from the side, and flattened him. Tyler was much bigger than Kiefer, and played rugby and football. He picked Kiefer up, and slammed him against a tree. Kiefer slid unconscious to the ground. Tyler looked like he was going to kick Kiefer in the head.

“Stop!{ I said, shaking my head. “You’ll kill him.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” said Tyler, breathing hard. “He was going to rape Jenna. This guy deserves having the shit kicked out of him.”

I just shook my head.  

“Forget him. We’ve got to get Jenna home.”

I took off my jacket and put it on Jenna, who was mostly unconscious. Tyler carried her out to the road where her car was parked, walking around the perimeter of the party, so no one would see us. That was the last thing that Jenna needed — rumours about how drunk she was. And wasn’t she with some older guy? She’d be on social media before morning. Nobody needed that kinda crap.  

When we got to Jenna’s car, Tyler bent in to lay her gently in the back.

“Go to the hospital.”

I recognized her/my voice. I looked, she/I was standing in beside me, looking into the car at Jenna.

“She’s not drunk.”

Then she was gone.

We hopped in the front seats, me driving.

“We’re going to the hospital,” I said. “I don’t think she’s drunk. I think she’s been roofied.”

Tyler nodded.

I got Tyler to call my mom, and I explained the situation on speaker phone. She said she’d meet us at the emergency department.

We got Jenna to the hospital, and blood work proved that she had been dosed with Rohypnol. In fact she had been overdosed, and was lucky that we got her to the hospital when we did. Also, her blood alcohol was below .05, so she wasn’t drunk.

The police were called. I said that I didn’t know Kiefer’s last name, or if Kiefer was even his real name. Tyler handed the police a wallet — Kiefer’s as it turned out. Tyler maintained that he found it on the ground. Kiefer Potter, 24, was arrested and charged with a myriad of offences.  

I had just dropped Tyler off at his house, and was heading home, when she/I appeared, opening the car door and sitting beside me in the front seat.

“Who are you?”

“You.”

“But how?”

She just smiled.

“Then why?”

“Because people could have died. You needed to be there.”

Before I could say anything she/I got out of the car, and walked away, slowly fading into the night.

The last time I saw her/me, was at university.

It was, again, at the end of the school term, early spring, and finals were coming up. My roommate, Beth, had invited me to a party at a frat house where Josh, her boyfriend, lived, and she assured me that I would have a good time. I wasn’t so sure. I had a chem final coming up, and I needed to do well if I ever wanted to get into medical school. Plus, I was tired. It had been a long, hard year. Pre-med was exhausting. The idea of staying home studying was very appealing.  

It was the day of the party. I was sitting in the quad, soaking up the weak springtime sun, making notes for my upcoming exam. Someone sat down beside me. I looked up. It was her/me.

“Go to the party tonight. You need to be there.”

Nothing ominous about a party invite, right?

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

And with that, she walked away.

I went to the party, already planning on leaving early. I was meandering around the packed house, talking to people that I knew, considering the best way to beg off early. Suddenly, someone screamed.

“He’s not breathing!”

I rushed in, and there was Josh, choking. I rushed over, and put my arms around his back, and attempted the Heimlich manoeuvre.  But he was a really big guy, and I was struggling with the upward thrusts.

“Here, let me help.”

I stepped back, and let an equally large guy take over. Two more thrusts, and whatever was stuck in his throat was dislodged, and flew across the room.

Everyone clapped. We looked at each other.

“Tyler?”

“Becs?”

We both smiled.

“I’m so glad you were here, to help again,” I said.

“I’m so glad to see you again,” said Tyler.

Someone caught me eye at the back of the crowd. It was her/me. She gave me a thumbs up, and walked out the door, softly closing it behind her.