Something’s Up With Olivia

“Are you going to eat those?” Olivia, my best (and only) friend asks across the table, eyeing my french fries. I shrug and shove the cardboard boat over to her, not taking my eyes away from my biology textbook. 

The school cafeteria hums with the relentless noise of hundreds of teenagers, numbing my mind in the worst way. Olivia and I sit as far away from the crowd as possible, but the oppressive wall of cacophony still closes in. If everyone was as dedicated to getting into an Ivy League school as I was, this place would be silent. Unfortunately for me, though, I seem to be the only one with such aspirations, and the library is closed for lunch. I give up my fruitless endeavors to study cell mitosis with a long sigh. The creaky plastic seat digs into my bottom as I lean over and rifle through my backpack. Somewhere in the mess is a bag of hot chips I stowed away a few days ago. 

Still bent over my bag, feel a shadow looming over me. I give up my hot fry search and face the oncomer, the strange, dark aura drawing my eyes up to a set of deep brown eyes. I’ve seen this kid before, probably in a dark corner at the back of a classroom or in detention. And I probably paid him no mind. Now, though, as he towers over my hunched form, he commands my attention in the most unsettling manner. 

“Hello,” I manage to say, though it comes out much quieter than I anticipated. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice a little higher than I expected. “I’m Lucas.”

“I know.” As soon as his name fell from his lips, I knew exactly where I had seen him. Images of the campus police escorting him through the crowded gym play in my mind’s eye. He had been caught performing an animal sacrifice in the equipment room, complete with a mouse, candles, salt, and an antique recipe book that turned out to be a grimoire. Whether his clandestine ritual was fruitful, no one knows. But there was a rumor that the page of his grimoire was open to a page called “Mens Imperium,” which inevitably came from the pompous Latin club (who have yet to realize that a dead language can still be translated, meaning their “secret” conversations were not so secret). 

“Can I sit with you guys?” Lucas asks, almost sheepish. A faint blush creeps onto his pale, sharp cheekbones. His formidable presence from earlier is replaced with a shy, unsure one. 

I motion for him to take the chair across from me, and he slumps into the plastic. As tall and gangly as he is, he seems to shrink once he takes his seat. He clasps his hands in front of him, as if to stop fidgeting, but he bounces his knee incessantly. 

“So,” I draw out, trying to break the excruciating silence, “what’s up?”

“Do you like magic?” Lucas raises an eyebrow, and Olivia snorts, trying and failing to cover it up. I raise my eyebrow back, suddenly regretting my hospitality. 

“Sure.” I shrug, and Olivia echoes my assent.

To my horror, Lucas dramatically reaches into his coat (yes, coat.) pocket and slowly produces a diminutive, crude doll. Chunks of bright blonde hair stick out in all directions, and the Sharpie face has eyelashes glued above the blue eyes. My mouth drops as Lucas turns in his seat to discreetly nod at Casey, who roughly matches the doll’s description. 

Casey lets out a laugh at something someone said, flashing her perfect white teeth and tossing her long, bright blonde hair out of her face. Lacrosse captain, honor roll grades, brand new Jeep, and quite possibly the nicest person on the planet are the ingredients God chose for his favorite, Casey Adams. No one could hate her if they tried. 

No one, except maybe Lucas. He sneers at her before turning back to us. I sneak a glance at Olivia, who is white as a sheet and gripping her chair as if she was going to fall out of it. We watch, mouths slack and eyes wide as Lucas scrapes his fingernail lightly along the doll’s arm. At first, nothing happens, as to be expected with an animal-sacrificing maniac who apparently practices voodoo magic in his spare time. 

But…

Cassie continues her conversation as if nothing is amiss when she absentmindedly scratches her arm. 

“No way,” Olivia blurts, shaking her head. “That’s bull. A complete coincidence.”

“Is it?” Lucas asks with a smirk. He performs the same scratch, this time on the doll’s cheek. We swivel our heads to gawk at Casey, who is now rubbing her cheek, clearly trying not to mess up her makeup. When Lucas turned his attention back on us, that darkness was showing in full force, almost as if he sucked all the light out of the room. A light sweat breaks out on my neck, and I drop my eyes to avoid Lucas’s piercing gaze. 

Olivia, however, looks like she wants to jump him. “Wow,” she breathes, and she actually bats her eyelashes. “That was so cool.”

I look at her incredulously, wondering if we just saw the same thing. However, Lucas’s attention stays on me, and I feel like crawling out of my skin. 

“What do you think?” he asks, propping himself on his elbows as he leans over the table. 

I chance one more look at Olivia, hoping she was acting or giving him shit for being a geek, but she’s enraptured. I slowly turn my eyes to Lucas, calculating how to get out of this without being the victim of his next voodoo magic trick. 

“I–um,” I swallow, “that was wild,” I manage. I offer a weak smile before inching out of my seat. “I think Olivia would like to learn how to do that.” I don’t care if I’m throwing her under the bus at this point, she shouldn’t have acted that well if she wanted out, too.

When Lucas finally snaps his attention to Olivia, I bolt. I spend the rest of the day, the week, and the school year avoiding Lucas at all costs and evading Olivia the best I could, given that she’s my best friend. Up until that point, of course.

–

Summer vacation comes and goes with extra classes, volunteer work, and anything and everything to get myself into an Ivy League school. It’s never mattered which one, but right now, my sights are set on Brown. My academic aspirations were never a problem to Olivia, and only ever Olivia, which was why I clung to her as my best friend for years. Without her, though, I started to feel an internal void that studying and staying busy couldn’t fill. By the last week of summer, I was determined to have her back, despite my reservations about her new boyfriend, Lucas. 

In the final weeks of school, I had noticed them walking the halls together between classes. By Memorial Day, they were posting pictures together at music festivals and small coffee shops. Olivia’s lackluster style slowly evolved from random vacation tees and leggings to ripped jeans and Docs. I noticed a small stud in her nose, too, even after we scoffed at Tara Clancey for getting one last summer. 

Still, I’m lonely and in need of someone to sit next to while I study at lunch. 

The bell chimes twice, signaling the five-minute warning before first period. I’ve scanned the halls for Olivia to no avail. With thirty seconds left to be in my seat, I dash to first.

The day goes by without one sighting of Olivia or Lucas. I feel like I should worry, but I would know if something bad happened.

Right?

When I arrive home after school, I ditch my usual routine of studying until dinner and stalk Olivia’s socials. Calling her would be the simplest solution to my dilemma, but the thought of how awkward it’s bound to be led me further down my current path. Her last post was July 23rd, two weeks ago. Surely I would know if something happened in the last two weeks.

Right?

After an hour of falling down the Olivia-shaped rabbit hole, I decided to just text her. 

I looked for you at school, wya?

The typing indicator came up almost immediately and continued its animation loop for almost two minutes before her reply finally showed.

Mom decided to homeschool. It’s pretty chill actually. Wanna come over?

Hell no, is my knee-jerk reaction, but after a little more consideration, I text her that I’ll be over in a few. At the very least, I want to put eyes on her. Her mom has always been strange, but I never would’ve guessed she’d be the homeschooling type. 

A five-minute walk takes me up to Olivia’s front door. I raise my fist to knock, but I hesitate. What if Lucas is here? I don’t think I want to see anymore voodoo magic tricks in my life, let alone subject myself to potentially being a victim with the wrong words. 

I knock anyway, fully expecting to see Olivia’s wide smile and big blue eyes greeting me on the other side of the door. Instead, her mom answers. She’s clad in what can only be described as brightly-colored rags sewn haphazardly together in a sort of robe and tied at the waist with a thin black rope.

“What a nice surprise!” she exclaims as I cross the threshold. I try not to stare at her outfit, but that proves to be a mistake as I take in the living room. Though the curtains are drawn against the harsh August sunlight, the room is still bright with candlelight, flickering menacing shadows across the walls donned with portraits of goats. Different variations of star decor surround the framed prints, and hardly an inch of the beige wall below is uncovered. The only piece of furniture is a wooden prayer bench facing the mantle, above which hangs the largest, and most off-putting goat of the bunch. 

Heavy footfalls sound on the stairwell behind me, and Olivia comes bounding into my line of sight. “Hey, stranger!” she beams as she wraps me in a bear hug.

“Hey…” I’m still staring at the goat altar, trying to make sense of this drastic change in their once normal, almost boring living room. 

“How’ve you been?” Olivia asks after releasing me. I take her in, almost gasping at the identical robe she wears. Her cord is green, though. And I notice a star pinned on her lapel. Contradicting the ragged clothing is her hair, neat as a pin and pulled back in some kind of twist. Olivia always had wild, untameable blonde locks, and seeing her coiffed is another brick in the wall of confusion. 

“I’m… fine.” I’m trying not to bolt for the door, I think as I plaster on a small smile. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m great,” she says and gestures to the room behind her. “I’ve found a new family.”

“A new family?” I stare at her as it finally clicks. The goats, the stars, the prayer bench. “Are you… um,” I whisper, not really sure why I’m trying to be discreet. “Is this–” I gesture to the living room, “are you in a satanic cult?” 

My heart sinks to my knees when Olivia’s smile never wavers. She only nods. 

“I–” I stumble back a step, “I think I should maybe, um, yeah.” I turn heel and head for the door, only to be blocked by Olivia’s mom. 

“Where are you going, sweetie?” she asks in a saccharine voice. “You only just got here!”

“My mom wants me home for dinner,” I lie, hoping this is all just a dream. “I really need to go.” I reach for the handle, but the woman grabs my wrist. 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” she hisses, all sweetness leeched from her tone.

I suddenly flinch at the feel of hands on my shoulders. I whirl around to find Olivia, still smiling. 

“I want you in my new family,” she whispers, “I missed you.”

“Oh, God, I–”

“There’s no God here,” her mother says from behind me. “Only Lucifer, the Everlasting.”

I panic, my breathing shallow and quick. Tears flood my vision as I whip my head left and right, looking for any mode of escape. Spotting a door in the kitchen down the hall, I make a mad dash, sprinting as fast as my gangly teenage legs could carry me. The doorknob is within reach, and I run with my hand outstretched.

A figure obstructs my path, and I slam full-force into a body. The impact sends my legs flying above my head. The unforgiving tile bites into my back when I land, knocking the breath from my lungs. My vision swims for a moment before revealing the figure before me, standing between me and my freedom. 

Lucas.

I wheeze, trying to get my hands underneath me, trying to sit up. Lucas holds something up, and I freeze, only a whimper escaping my lips. 

A me-shaped doll trembles in his clutch. I sob, pleading with him to let me go. He squeezes the doll tighter, and I feel like an elephant sat on me. Struggling for breath, I scramble to my knees, only to watch as Lucas takes the doll in two hands and bends its back. Pain erupts in my lower back and I scream. Still, Lucas bends and bends and bends, until a loud snap rings through the small kitchen. The iron pentagram above the back door is the last thing I see before my world fades from view.

Darlene’s ivory skirt billowed out around her where she knelt in the grass. A light breeze rustled the bright green blades and tickled my knees as I sat beside her. She giggled, but I didn’t catch what she said. I turned to look at her; her red hair contrasted her pale, freckled skin as she flashed her crooked white teeth in a genuine smile. 

“What was that, Dar?” I asked, wanting to hear what was so funny. She reached into the picnic basket and plucked a plump pear from its depths. 

“I said, ‘Jimmy Wellington asked me to the dance yesterday.’” She giggled again, pear juice dripping down her chin. A perfectly manicured finger darted to swipe the stray drop away, and she wiped it on her skirt. I cringed internally.

“I thought you liked him,” I replied, but I was preoccupied with the stain marring Darlene’s pristine skirt. 

“I did, until I found out he has a comic book collection,” she said, wrinkling her small nose in disgust. “What a shame to ruin such a cute face.”

“I’m confused,” I told her, furrowing my brow. “We always knew Jimmy was a square. I mean, he’s on the math team, for crying out loud!” Darlene’s indecisiveness always tended to frustrate me. It was hard enough to keep up with her weekly crushes, and harder still to make sure I didn’t fancy the same guys. Though, with the constant rotation, I was always in danger of it.

“It’s easy to forget about that little detail when even the school paper doesn’t bother to report it,” she groaned. “I don’t know why I ever let my mind go there.”

I sighed, knowing the new person of interest would be emerging soon. I just hoped it wouldn’t be Milton Cromwell again. He was mine–in my mind. 

“Did you hear?” I began, changing the subject. “Kathy Stanza was caught coming home at eleven o’clock last weekend, and now her parents aren’t letting her go to the dance.”

“Really?” Darlene gasped, her cherry red lips forming an “O.” Her expression quickly changed to a devious smile before she noisily bit into her pear again.

“What?” I asked, slightly unsettled by the dip of her brow. 

“That means good ol’ Benson will be needing a date.”

“Darlene!” I scolded, sounding far too much like my mother. “Kathy and Benson have been going steady for a whole year! You can’t do that to her.” I shook my head, appalled. However, I didn’t expect her to change her mind. 

“I wouldn’t be doing anything to Kathy,” Darlene countered, feigning indignation at my accusation. “It would be entirely Benson’s fault if he throws their relationship away just to go to the dance with little ol’ me.”

“That’s heinous, Dar.”

“Maybe, but we both need a date.” She shrugged, and I decided to give up.

The following day at school, Darlene stood beside me at my locker, smacking her pink bubble gum loudly in my ear. I gathered my English notebook and the tattered, school-issued copy of The Odyssey. 

Just as I slammed the metal door shut, Darlene grabbed my arm in a vice. I turned to her, a protest on my lips until I saw her eyes wide, watching behind me. 

“Milton Cromwell is walking this way,” she whispered sharply. “I bet he’s about to ask me to the dance.” She winked at me before turning her attention behind me again. She shamelessly batted her eyelashes at Milton, who didn’t seem the least bit impressed. Instead, he turned to me. 

“Hiya, Lorraine,” he greeted cheerfully. He leaned against my locker, offering me a crooked smile. I fought tooth and nail against the blush rising to heat my neck and cheeks.

“Hello, Milton,” I replied, unable to stop staring at his brutally handsome features. His honey-blonde hair was swept out of his face, revealing bronze skin lightly dusted with freckles. His light blue school uniform shirt hugged his broad shoulders and perfectly fit his athletic frame. And his bright blue eyes… I could’ve fainted.

“Say,” he started, and he reached up to rub his neck, “would you like to go to the dance with me next weekend?”

I faltered for only a second before the widest, most painful smile overtook my face. “Why, I’d love to!” I stopped myself from jumping into his arms and kissing his beautiful face all over. Instead, I wiggled my fingers in a flirty wave before turning away and heading to English class. Darlene hurried to my side, and she looked upset. 

“How could you?” she hissed at me.

“How could I what?” I asked incredulously.

“He was going to ask me to the dance and you just had to go and steal him right out from under my nose!” She wasn’t whispering now. In fact, a few heads turned in our direction as I quickened my pace down the hallway. 

“Dar, I don’t under–”

“You,” she shouted as she stepped in front of me and pointed a slender finger in my face, “are nothing but a tramp, and I wish I was never friends with you!”

My mouth dropped open as she stomped away, her pumps clicking loudly. I stared after her, embarrassed, but not surprised. I had a feeling a day like this would come. She’s never been able to be happy for me when I made any headway with boys. She would always try to turn me off of them, or turn them off of me. She could keep her drippy Jimmy Wellington, or her two-timing Benson Jones, anyway. I was through with her.

The Friday of the dance came much too quickly, and my nerves were firing. Mother helped me find the perfect dress, and she even took me to the salon for a ‘do. A few minutes before Mitlon was due to pick me up, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Tired of picking myself apart, I took in my emerald green dress, my lightly tanned skin, and my pouty red lips. I twirled, admiring the way the satin skirts shimmered and my golden curls bounced around my cheeks. 

I stilled, and imagined holding a beautiful, tow-headed baby in my arms with Milton by my side. I imagined myself in white, lacy gown with a veil covering my face and Milton waiting for me at the end of the aisle. I imagined us old and gray, rocking away in creaky wood chairs, watching the sun set together. 

A car rumbled on the street, and I scrambled to the window to find Milton’s Thunderbird rolling into the driveway. My heart skipped beats as I watched him step out, a smart gray suit hugging his body. I noticed with a wide smile his emerald green tie; I had only mentioned the color of my dress in passing, and he actually remembered. 

Mother strode into my room and embraced me from behind. “He’s mighty handsome, Lor.”

“Don’t I know it,” I giggled. She turned me by my shoulders to face her, and she studied my dress. I saw tears brimming her eyes, but I didn’t say anything; I knew she’d just brush me off. 

“Your father is giving that poor boy a talking-to,” she sighed. I blanched, my worst fear about tonight coming to fruition. 

“Oh, no!” I grasped Mother’s hands nervously. “You don’t think he’ll scare poor Milton, do you?”

“I can’t say for sure,” she said, and my heart sank. I dropped my head in despair. “But,” she whispered as she tilted my chin up, “any boy worth your hand wouldn’t be scared off by your father, no matter how much he lays into him.”

My taut shoulders relaxed as I realized how right she was. A grin played at the corners of my mouth. Mother wrapped her arm around my waist and led me out of my room and down the stairs. 

As the sitting room slowly came into view, so did Milton and Father. At the sound of our footsteps, they both stood. My eyes were glued to Milton as I appraised his face, looking for any signs of distress, but he was smiling ear-to-ear as he looked me up and down. Blush burned my cheeks as I returned his smile.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs , looking to Father in a silent question of permission. He glanced at Mother and gave her an almost imperceptible wink before schooling his expression. 

“As I’ve informed your date,” he began, a silly formal tone giving him a slightly English accent, “you are to be home not one minute past ten thirty tonight.” I nodded sagely, trying not to show too much enthusiasm at the generous curfew. “And remember to behave like the young gentleman and young lady you are.” He looked to Milton and I in turn, and we both nodded. 

“And don’t forget to have fun,” Mother added before giving me a swift kiss on the cheek. I caught her in a hug and squeezed, then bounced over to give Father the same affection. When I turned to Milton, he held out his elbow and escorted me out of the house. 

Once  inside the Thunderbird, I waved to Mother and Father, who had come out to the porch. We drove away, chatting about my parents, his parents, school, and any other subject that came to mind. We continued our banter throughout the dance, not once leaving each other’s side. I was completely smitten and almost didn’t notice Darlene enter the gymnasium hand-in-hand with Benson Jones. 

It seemed as if everyone froze in place for a second, every pair of eyes locked on the couple who carried on to the punch bowl as if unaware. One by one, students resumed their dancing, including me and Milton. Both of us tried and failed not to burst out laughing at the incredible gall of those two. 

“Kathy will be beside herself,” I whispered in Milton’s ear, trying not to notice how nice it felt to be so close to him. 

“So will Kathy’s dad,” Milton whispered back, his breath tickling my ear. “He was supposed to marry Kathy and work with her dad at the pharmacy.”

I gasped, truly feeling sorry for Kathy’s unfortunate situation. I couldn’t make the feeling last long, though, as the music changed to a slower song, and Milton pulled my body close to his. We swayed, chest to chest, heart to heart. I looked into his eyes as the rest of the world faded from view. As I stared, our life played out like a movie projected onto the bright blue screen of his irises. I saw our wedding, my ivory dress and dainty lace veil. I saw our children, a boy and two girls with sandy blonde hair and freckles on their button noses. I saw our grandchildren and a great-grandbaby. I saw Milton and I, hand in hand, rocking on our old front porch and looking out at the pink skies above. It felt so real, like I’d already lived this life with him.

The music slowly filtered back into my ears as Milton pulled me impossibly closer. We were bordering on indecent, but I didn’t care. My eyes flicked down to his lips, causing me to lick my own nervously. When I met his eyes again, he leaned down, his breath mingling with mine. 

The second our lips touched, bright fluorescent lights powered on overhead. I squinted against them, shading my eyes with my hands. 

“Miss Cromwell?” a voice sounded behind me. I whipped around, wondering who had called me. I was met with an empty cafeteria, tables folded up along the walls next to tall stacks of plastic chairs. White tiles reflected the harsh lights and I squinted against the glare, trying to make sense of my surroundings. 

The voice belonged to a tall, middle-aged woman in bright pink scrubs. Her tennis shoes squeaked against the tile as she strode toward me, an irritated expression creasing her brow.

“Milton,” I whispered as I reached behind me, but instead of the rough wool material of his suit, my hand met cool, sterile air. I spun around, and the rest of the deserted cafeteria greeted me. Gone was the dance and the shimmering tinsel decor, gone were my classmates and Darlene, gone was Milton. 

“Hey,” the woman called, much closer now. I snapped my head around to face her. 

“Where’s Milton?” I demanded, slowly backing away from the nurse-woman. 

“Miss Cromwell, please just let me take you–”

“No!” I shouted, my slippers shuffling backwards. I had to get out of here. I had to find Milton and go home, or Mother and Father would be so upset. I turned and tried to run from her, but unfamiliar aches shot through my legs. “No!” I screamed again as the woman advanced. I tried to run again, but I tripped on my slipper and fell to the ground. Pain exploded through me, and I wailed. I vaguely registered the nurse talking, and a radio response to her call, but I cried and cried, praying for Milton to come running through the doors to save me.

Hands, so many hands grabbed at my arms and legs, lifting me from the cold floor and laying me on a stretcher. I struggled with all my might, but I was no match. My arms and legs were strapped down and I was wheeled from the cafeteria and down a long hallway.

Sobs wracked my body, even after I stopped struggling. White lights entered and left my vision as I was gurneyed down a long hallway by four large men in the same bright pink scrubs as the nurse-woman. I looked down at my blasted slippers, cursing them. 

I didn’t remember putting on slippers. 

I took in the rest of my outfit; a thin, gray nightgown covered my frail body down to my ankles, and plastic bracelets with “Cromwell, Lorraine” printed in black ink circled my bony wrists. Tears continued to fall, blurring my vision as I let my head roll back, watching the lights again. 

But, my heart stopped as I realized.

Another look at one of my bracelets confirmed the ugly truth. One word printed in those small black letters, just as significant as my name, now. Crushing pain that had nothing to do with my fall radiated in my chest. My life flooded back to me, and not for the first time. 

I relived the loss of my youngest daughter when she was only ten. 

I relived the joyous and wonderful weddings of my surviving children.

I relived my son’s messy divorce and custody battle.

I relived Milton and I buying our last house, a small farmhouse at the end of a long gravel driveway.

I relived each of my faithful dogs’ deaths. 

I relived the births of my grandchildren and one great-grandchild.

I relived Milton’s fall.

I relived screaming his name until my throat was raw.

I relived clutching his head to my chest and refusing to let go.

I relived losing my mind without him.

I looked back down at my identifying bracelet, reading that word over and over again until my tears blurred the world again. I gave up, knowing I’d given up before but hoping that maybe it would stick this time. Maybe this time, Milton would call me home to him.

“Cromwell, Lorraine: Alzheimer’s”