Uninvited by Justine Musk

Author:Justine Musk [Musk, Justine]
Language: spa
Format: epub

PART TWO

Notes from the Ride (II)

These are some of the things I can't tell you. At least not yet. Rut I need to write them out like this, maybe as practice for that day when we do sit down together and I try to explain all this to you. . . . If that day ever comes.

The first time I ever saw him, I was young enough to listen to my gut without, questioning the strange things it was telling me.

That first time, Dad was driving me home from a soccer game. I was crumpled in the backseat, grass-stained and exhausted, dirty cleats kicked off so I could curl up on the ripped leather seat and read my book, which was what I'd been wanting to do all afternoon instead of chasing some stupid ball around a field while the grown-ups yelled like madmen from the sidelines. The heat of the car made me drowsy. I was fighting it, trying to read, but my eyes kept closing—until for some reason—but it wasn't a reason so much as a feeling—I lifted my head to look out the side window.

Someone was calling me.

It was as if I was hearing one thing with my mind and another with my ears. Dad was singing along with the radio, "Love in an elevator..." tapping one large hand on the dashboard, sleeves rolled up so that when I looked through the space between the front seats I could see the tattoo on his forearm.

We stopped at the intersection of Farris and King, the red light staring over the crossroads like an evil eye.

I remember telling you when you were little— maybe the same age that I was that day in the car— that Farris is one of the friendly streets that takes you all the places you want to go, the video arcade and toy stores and Dad's restaurant downtown, where the waitresses always made a fuss over us and told me how handsome I'd be when I grew up and how the girls would be after me. They brought extra servings of that amazing chocolate chip bread pudding they don't make anymore.

But King Avenue is a different kind of street. It's narrow and dark and rough, it loops through the hills like a snake. I never trusted it.

And so, that day, as we waited for the traffic light to change, I looked out to where King Street rose into wooded hillside.

A tall thin man was walking out of the trees and down the road's gravelly shoulder. The man wore a long pale coat that blew around his legs. He stopped and lifted his head as if catching a scent in the air.

He seemed to be looking straight at me.

And I got the feeling he was saying more than my name.

"Hey; kid."

"Nice little soul you got there."

It was as if the man's face opened up and I could see through it to a dark and whistling abyss.

The traffic light went to green. I ducked my head

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