“Who do other people see?”
“I think that depends on the person. Like you said, different perceptions.”
“Who cares what they think?”
“Not me,” he said, taking a deep breath. “But it might bother you.”
I slid my hand across the white wooden fence, tracing the grain. I winced when a shred of it entered my forefinger. Bright-red droplets formed.
“Damn it.” I stuck my finger in my mouth.
He cocked his head and stared at me. “You’re sassy today. Why are you yelling at me?”
I held up my finger. “Splinter, sassy pants. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t care less about what people think.”
“Do you ever wonder why we get along so well?”
I nodded. “Sometimes.”
“You have the heart of an artist,” Tommy said. “And the soul of an old spirit. More so than anybody I’ve ever known.”
He stared at me for a moment. So intensely, I wondered if he may see inside me to my very heart. A slight breeze rippled through the fresh green leaves of the maple tree behind me. For some reason I was holding my breath until he spoke again.
“I’ve been able to recognize this trait, or really a state of being in people.” Tommy paused. “Believe me, these people don’t come along very often. But when they do, I befriend them and relish the time we spend together.”
I didn’t know where he was going with all of this. My curiosity was piqued. No fifteen-year-old boy spoke like Tommy did. Nobody I knew spoke like him. I held on to his words, like precious jewels in my hands. A smooth ruby, a sparkling diamond. I was at a loss to express how his words made me feel. An unexplainable feeling. His words surrounded me in a warm haze, my hungry mind gobbling up his thoughts and ideas. They mixed together with mine in a delicious tango that left me mentally dizzy.
“Emily!” my brother’s voice pierced the air.
I ignored him and stayed focused on Tommy. I wanted to hear more of his thoughts. I wanted to understand this connection I felt with him.
“Emily! Come here!”
I glanced over to see him standing at the edge of the woods. A scowl covered his face.
“Just ignore him,” I said to Tommy.
“I can,” Tommy said. His lips curved into a knowing smile. “But you can’t.”
He was right. I turned to Sam and yelled, “What do you want?”
He moved down to the tracks. I turned away from Tommy and walked to meet my brother.
“Well, you can meet Tommy,” I said when I reached him. “Why are you down here anyway?”
Sam just stood in front of me. Confusion clouded his features. His hair, slick with sweat at the brow, stuck straight up as if he’d been running his hands through it. A nervous habit he’d had since he was three.
“Is something wrong?” A shot of worry snaked through me. “Is Mom okay?”
“Mom’s fine,” Sam said.
“So what do you want?” I sighed. He irritated me, standing there like some moron. I doubted he and Tommy would get along. They were so different. “If you’re not going to say anything, at least come over here and meet Tommy.”
I turned and walked towards where Tommy was leaning on the fence. Or had been leaning. He was gone.
“Where did he go?”
Sam grabbed my arms and shook me gently. “Where did who go, Emily?”
I pushed him off me. “What is wrong with you? Where did Tommy go? He was just here a few minutes ago. You saw him, right? I was talking to him when you started yelling for me.”
Sam stared at me. “What’s wrong with you, Emily? Are you going nuts or something?”
“What the hell, Sam! What are you even talking about?”
“I’ve been watching you for the last half an hour, probably longer than that. I’ve watched you stand by that fence and talk…”
“…to Tommy,” I interjected. “He was just here.”
“…to nobody,” Sam said. He spoke in a quiet voice like he did when I was sick. “Emily, you were talking to yourself. Nobody else was here.”
Chapter Twelve
Anger surged through me. Sam was being a complete ass. No wonder Tommy took off. I wouldn’t want to meet my know-it-all brother either. Since he was older than me, he thought he was smarter, too. What a joke. I didn’t have a clue why he’d make up something like this. But no matter. This was Annie Tootles all over again. Or at least I was sure he thought so.
Annie Tootles was my imaginary friend when I was about four years old. We did everything together. I knew that sounded stupid. But I was four. Whispering my secrets to Annie Tootles each day, I created a pretend play land for myself. I could tell her all my secrets, as much as a four-year-old harbored secrets.
Sam hated when I talked about Annie Tootles. He possessed the imagination of a cement block. Always seeing the reality in life, whereas I saw the possible realities. Or the realities of my own active mind. I loved my imagination and sometimes ran wild with it.
I’d been soon turning five. Fast approaching kindergarten. Sam had warned me Annie Tootles could not go with me to school. He’d hounded me relentlessly to get rid of Annie until one day I couldn’t take it anymore. Sam and I had got into a fight. A wrestling match of sorts. After that day, Annie Tootles hadn’t come to me again. I’d known she was not real, but she was no longer in my imagination.
But this couldn’t be like Annie Tootles. Tommy was real. A real boy. Sam had to see him. I wondered if Sam knew Tommy
