{"id":149,"date":"2019-03-28T11:59:00","date_gmt":"2019-03-28T11:59:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/141.148.246.190\/index.php\/single-post\/story-of-the-fly\/"},"modified":"2022-04-19T12:06:41","modified_gmt":"2022-04-19T12:06:41","slug":"story-of-the-fly","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.alexisveenendaal.com\/index.php\/2019\/03\/28\/story-of-the-fly\/","title":{"rendered":"Story of the Fly"},"content":{"rendered":"
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*Throwback to the beginning of a story I wrote in 2016.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

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The late afternoon was cool and wet, and red and brown leaves sprinkled the pavement of the quiet street lined with blue and white cookie-cutter homes. Kendra made this walk every day after school. She didn\u2019t participate in after-school activities. She didn\u2019t drive. She refused to share a school bus with all the poor excuses for human-beings that were her classmates (mates being a very loose term). She clicked through irrelevant social media stories, the perfect reminder that she didn\u2019t belong, as she padded down the sidewalk.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Sure, she seemed to be like every angsty, hormonal teenager in high school who had few ambitions and fewer hobbies, but she knew why she was like this. Just like she knew that, after five years of counselling, nothing would change.<\/span><\/p>\n

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People mostly left her alone. They knew she was weird, and they didn\u2019t have the time of day to make anything of it. For that, she was thankful. Being a loner was fine, so long as people left her to it. <\/span><\/p>\n

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Today, though, was different. She had been paired up with Jessica Newman on a biology project, and Jessica Newman was a participant in all thing\u2019s \u2018school\u2019. So, on this particular day, Kendra stayed at school late with Jessica to work on her project. She didn\u2019t like walking home this late, but staring at her phone kept her calm.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cJesus, Cali, she\u2019s not home yet. Can you check the school grounds? Please? C\u2019mon man. Just drive back. No, she\u2019s not answering her phone.\u201d A pause. \u201cI don\u2019t know\u2014seriously? Okay, okay. Thanks man, I appreciate it. Let me know.\u201d Jason Mathers stood on the lawn in front of his parent\u2019s house, pacing nervously and staring at his phone. \u201cShit. Shit, shit, shit.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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Jason Mathers wasn\u2019t exactly someone Kendra talked to, but they were distantly aware of each other\u2019s existence. She wasn\u2019t the type to talk to anyone, especially someone of his personality persuasion, but she could sense at least enough of a problem to feel compelled to speak. \u201cSomething\u2014wrong?\u201d She asked as she passed.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cIt\u2019s none of your business,\u201d he snapped, his face going red. <\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cCool, you\u2019re definitely right. Seems like you\u2019re making it the whole neighbourhood\u2019s business, though.\u201d She looked around pointedly, but the streets were quiet. Everyone was inside their homes eating dinner, she presumed.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cEverything is great,\u201d he said, stony. He looked back and his phone and made to be busy.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cBye,\u201d Kendra said in annoyance, continuing down the sidewalk. She was just about past his house when he called back.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cMy\u2014sister\u2019s missing. My little sister.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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She turned slowly to look back at him. \u201cJen\u2019s missing?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cUh, yeah,\u201d he looked confused that she knew his sister\u2019s name. She was good with names. \u201cSorry,\u201d he said, the word bitter in his mouth. \u201cShe asked to walk home with her friends, and I said it was fine, \u2018cause I was hanging out with the guys at Cali\u2019s house, but now it\u2019s been hours and she\u2019s still not home. She won\u2019t answer her phone, either.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWhere are your parents?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cIn Mexico for a couple weeks.\u201d He looked around, seemingly lost.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cHave you called any of her friends? Or her friend\u2019s parents?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cI don\u2019t have any of their numbers.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cDo you know where they live?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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He shook his head. Kendra walked back to where he stood and crossed her arms. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t be letting little girls walk home. Don\u2019t you know what happens to little girls who walk home alone?\u201d She felt her anger flash. \u201cDon\u2019t you know what kind of people are out there?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cShe wasn\u2019t alone. She was with friends.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWho are also little kids.\u201d She said firmly, and then felt guilty at the look of worry on his face. \u201cLook,\u201d she sighed, \u201care there places they especially like to go?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cThey go to the Beanie Caf\u00e9 sometimes. Or the park by the lake.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWell, why not try there first? And leave a note for her here. I\u2019m sure her phone is dead and she\u2019s off having fun with her friends.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t she call me with her friend\u2019s phone then?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cBecause,\u201d Kendra rolled her eyes. \u201cShe\u2019s a\u2014what\u2014thirteen-year-old girl? She\u2019s not thinking about that kind of stuff.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cI don\u2019t have a car.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cBetter start walking, then.\u201d She turned to leave hesitantly, worry in her gut.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWait,\u201d Jason said. \u201cWould you come with me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWhy\u2026?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cI don\u2019t want to be caught up in my own head. And you seem to know a lot about how girls think.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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She smiled slightly at that. \u201cWell, I do happen to be one, you know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cRight,\u201d he said awkwardly. \u201cWait here a second. I\u2019ll leave a note.\u201d She hadn\u2019t even agreed to it, but she waited all the same. He ran inside, and she checked her phone. It was already almost seven, but her parents were always out on Thursday\u2019s until nine or ten.<\/span><\/p>\n

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He sprang out of the door again, backpack-free. \u201cOkay,\u201d he said, a little breathless, \u201clet\u2019s go.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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They checked the caf\u00e9 and found no sign of giggling teenage girls. It was awkward walking next to a near stranger. Kendra wasn\u2019t the talking type to begin with, and neither, it seemed, was Jason. At least, not while he was worrying about his sister. \u201cSo\u2026what do you want to do after high school?\u201d He asked as they tramped through to the park.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cReally?\u201d She asked sardonically. Usually she got that question from her relatives and elderly church people. He gave her a look, and she said, \u201calright, alright. I don\u2019t really know. I thought maybe I would go to a university and take chemistry.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cHuh,\u201d was all he said.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWhat about you?\u201d she asked, only because it was customary.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cI\u2019m going to the University of Toronto for Electrical Engineering.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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That made her raise her eyebrows. \u201cWow\u2014I mean,\u201d she realized she sounded a bit rude, \u201cthat\u2019s impressive. You\u2019ve got it figured out already.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cYeah,\u201d he gave her a sidelong smile. \u201cPretty weird, I know.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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They searched the park for ten minutes, but it was obvious that Jen and her friends weren\u2019t there. The panic was evident on Jason\u2019s face. \u201cI have to call the cops,\u201d he said, pulling out his phone.<\/span><\/p>\n

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She grabbed his arm before he could dial. \u201cDo your parents have a landline?\u201d He nodded. \u201cTry that, first. See if she made it back.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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She watched him dial, apprehension building. She heard a voice on the other line. Hello?<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cJen? Where the hell were you? Why didn\u2019t you answer your phone?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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Kendra sighed in relief and left them to it. She hiked up her backpack and caught his eye to show him she was leaving.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cHang on,\u201d he was saying, \u201clet me call you back. Wait!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWhat did you mean before? That thing you said about little girls walking home alone?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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She hesitated, looking at him closely. \u201cI just meant it\u2019s not always safe.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cThat\u2019s not what you meant.\u201d He looked pained, and a familiar feeling of guilt washed over her. \u201cGrade eight?\u201d he asked. She saw the pity in his eyes. That pity was familiar to her.<\/span><\/p>\n

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She nodded, clearing her throat. She wasn\u2019t the type to cry, but she was sure words would fail her.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cI remember you were gone for a while, but I never knew.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cNo one did,\u201d she managed to say, and cleared her throat again. \u201cNo one except my family. Besides, I\u2019m fine. I\u2019m alive, aren\u2019t I?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cIt\u2019s not really the same.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cIt\u2019s none of your business.\u201d She was starting to get angry again.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cI know it\u2019s not,\u201d he shook his head, thinking. \u201cCan I at least walk you home? Make sure you get there safely?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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Kendra could feel her throat burning with the tears she held back. She simply nodded, feeling grateful but also ashamed.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cI can\u2019t imagine,\u201d he told her as they walked.<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cYou definitely can\u2019t.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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He glanced at her, but said nothing, and they continued down the sidewalk in silence. When they reached her driveway, he gave an awkward wave and said, \u201cthanks, for, uh\u2014helping me out with my sister.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cSure thing,\u201d Kendra said, keeping her eyes down and nudging a rogue dandelion with her toe. \u201cTell her to be safer next time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

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\u201cWell, okay, bye.\u201d He waited another few seconds, as if considering saying more, then shook his head and walked away, stuffing his hands into his pockets.<\/span><\/p>\n

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The porchlight to her house flicked on as she climbed the steps and unlocked the door, stepping inside and bolting it behind.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/main><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A short story about a high school girl who experienced something terrible in her youth. In her fearful walk home one late evening, she encounters a new and surprising perspective.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":698,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"episode_type":"","audio_file":"","cover_image":"","cover_image_id":"","duration":"","filesize":"","date_recorded":"","explicit":"","block":"","filesize_raw":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[80],"series":[],"class_list":["post-149","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-short-story"],"episode_featured_image":"https:\/\/blog.alexisveenendaal.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/04\/pexels-tim-gouw-443417.jpg","episode_player_image":"https:\/\/blog.alexisveenendaal.com\/wp-content\/plugins\/seriously-simple-podcasting\/assets\/images\/no-album-art.png","download_link":"","player_link":"","audio_player":false,"episode_data":{"playerMode":"dark","subscribeUrls":{"amazon":{"key":"amazon","url":"https:\/\/music.amazon.ca\/podcasts\/09c34bbc-b359-49af-a286-31830ed5634c\/short-stories","label":"Amazon","class":"amazon","icon":"amazon.png"},"apple_podcasts":{"key":"apple_podcasts","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.apple.com\/us\/podcast\/short-stories\/id1621456328","label":"Apple Podcasts","class":"apple_podcasts","icon":"apple-podcasts.png"},"google_play":{"key":"google_play","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.google.com\/feed\/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbGV4aXN2ZWVuZW5kYWFsLmNvbS9mZWVkL3BvZGNhc3Qvc2hvcnQtc3Rvcmllcw","label":"Google Play","class":"google_play","icon":"google-play.png"},"google_podcasts":{"key":"google_podcasts","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.google.com\/feed\/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbGV4aXN2ZWVuZW5kYWFsLmNvbS9mZWVkL3BvZGNhc3Qvc2hvcnQtc3Rvcmllcw","label":"Google Podcasts","class":"google_podcasts","icon":"google-podcasts.png"},"spotify":{"key":"spotify","url":"https:\/\/open.spotify.com\/show\/0lcQCRs52MfYlKs35lVX4K","label":"Spotify","class":"spotify","icon":"spotify.png"},"itunes":{"key":"itunes","url":"https:\/\/podcasts.apple.com\/us\/podcast\/short-stories\/id1621456328","label":"iTunes","class":"itunes","icon":"itunes.png"}},"rssFeedUrl":"https:\/\/blog.alexisveenendaal.com\/feed\/podcast\/default-podcast","embedCode":"

Story of the Fly<\/a><\/blockquote>