Author: Mark Tullius
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said, “I’m Danny.” His right hand was busy with the pencil so he stuck out his left with a rolled-up comic book in it. He raised his head and showed me his hazel eyes that were too close together.

Having someone look me in the eyes has never been easy, but Dad taught me to watch them when someone’s talking.

He said if you want to know what people look like when they lie, just look them in the eyes and ask how they’re doing.

Dad said the eyes show everything. They show the real you. And that was something I didn’t want anyone seeing. Especially some stranger.

But Danny didn’t have the eyes of a stranger. They were the kindest shade of hazel, the softest brown I’d ever seen. There was a whole lot of hurt filling those eyes, but the flecks of gold said he’d be alright.

I gave the comic book a shake like that’s how everyone did it. “Nice to meet you, Danny.”

Danny turned his neck like he was trying to get out the kink then pointed at the sketchpad and asked, “You a pro?”

“No, just for fun.” That word “fun” making me want to puke.

Danny picked up the sketchpad and the box of colored pencils. He said, “You need these.”

I still had money left on the gift card, but thought I should save it. I followed Danny to the register and told him, “I’m not sure I want to buy them.”

Danny unzipped his blue fanny pack and paid with his own card. Then he handed over the pad and pencils and said, “Happy new home.”

“Danny... I can’t accept this.”

“You have to. I want to see you draw.”

“I haven’t done it since I was a kid.”

“Need practice. Come on.”

Danny ran out the door, over to a bench, plopped down. Reluctantly, I sat and opened the pad to the very first page. “What would you like me to draw?”

Danny said he didn’t know, but I knew he was being shy. I turned and listened for his thoughts.

I got nothing, the first time that’d ever happened to me.

I’d been around people who didn’t think much or were always distracted, caught up in the moment. But this was different. With Danny there was nothing. Not one thought, just that smile.

Danny’s kind eyes got worried.

I took out the charcoal pencil, finally heard Danny’s thoughts. “You didn’t ruin it.” I gave him a smile and said, “It’s cool. It’ll be a surprise.”

I turned off my mind and looked across the park. Rachel was sitting by a tree. I’d met her at work, but we’d barely spoken, both of us too scared, knowing we were being watched. My pencil got moving. In less than a minute, I had an outline.

* * *

IT WAS A HALF-DAY, Mom another no-show. But this time I was six, old enough to use the under-the-mat key. I hoped I’d have the house to myself, even though that meant Mom would be at someone else’s. But she was home, laughing so loud she didn’t hear me open the back door.

I walked past the dryer’s low rumble, my Ghostbusters backpack in one hand, my drawing in the other. I heard a man’s voice, the aerobics instructor, the one with the big dick.

“My kid’s a regular Picasso. Look at all the crap I’ve got on my fridge.” Mom laughed.

I crumpled up the drawing and ran to my room. She came in later, heard me crying. She wished I wasn’t such a whiny brat. She tried to console me, make me feel better, but her thoughts told the truth and made everything so much worse.

* * *

DANNY COULDN’T STAY still, kept shifting, tapping his legs like a drum, thumbing the paint off his pencil. I made him my helper and asked for colors, but he didn’t know them all by name. I pointed. He figured it out. By the time I was done with the drawing I was ready to crumple it up like I did with Mom. Anyone who saw it would know I was no artist, I’d never been good with faces, but I’d sort of captured Rachel’s insecurity, the way she adjusted, sucked in so her belly wouldn’t spill over her skirt.

Danny asked if I was done. I tore it out and handed it to him.

He said it was perfect and I said it was nothing.

Danny held up the picture, his eyes all shiny. “It’s everything.”

He jumped to his feet and ran over to Rachel. Handed it to her. He pointed back to me and she smiled. I felt guilty and left, wandered out into the forest and carved Michelle’s name in that tall pine tree. They hadn’t told us we could venture into the woods, but I didn’t care, just kept walking until I found that tree. Pulled out my apartment keys and dug into the bark. For a second, I thought the key might break, but I just kept carving, digging, needing to see her name, pretend I could make things right.

If only I’d told her the truth, hadn’t been so greedy about the house, been smarter like Dad had told me to be. Maybe then I wouldn’t have ended up here, trapped on this fucking mountain.

Fucking Saul.

I knew he was suspicious at BMW, knew he was thinking about turning me in, but I pressed, thought I had a few days.

When Michelle’s name was finally carved, I fell against the tree and wept. I can’t remember ever crying like that as an adult. My mind falling into the past. I thought about getting lost in the snow as a kid, that nice woman hugging me, taking me home.

The home I’d never see again.

The sun began to set, and the temperature dropped, the tears warm trails down my cheeks. I finally got up, walked back towards the apartment. That’s when I heard the car. It rounded the curve way up the mountain. It was dark blue, definitely a Chrysler. The same kind Michelle drove.

I started running. She’d come to save me!

The car was half a block away. I still couldn’t see the driver, but I knew it was Michelle. I wasn’t a piece of shit. She’d forgiven me, probably knew about my ability all along.

I ran into the middle of the street, waving my arms like an idiot.

“Michelle! Michelle!”

The car was going fast and headed right for me. I closed my eyes, thought it couldn’t stop, the screech of brakes louder than anything I’ve ever heard.

I opened my eyes, the car only a foot from me, its front door thrown open. It was the quickest I’ve gone from one feeling to another. First thinking I was free, saved, still loved, then straight to scared shitless, because the driver was out of the car, running right at me, screaming for me to get down, his big fucking pistol pointed right at my face.

It happened so quick I just saw flashes. Blue jeans, black windbreaker, angry brown eyes. And then he was on me, kicking my legs out, pushing my head, slamming me to the ground.

His black boot went on my cheek like he was squashing a bug. He shouted, “Stay the fuck down.”

I yelled like a little girl. “Get off of me!” Then I grabbed his boot and pushed it off to prove I wasn’t.

The boot went away, but metal came back. Hard. The barrel of the gun pushed at my temple, dug into the bone like it didn’t need a bullet.

I could barely open my jaw. It sounded all screwed up when I said, “What’d I do?”

“You want to die?”

I didn’t try to talk. Laid still. Focused on the cold gravel digging into my cheek, not on the gun twitching, pressing like all this guy wanted to do was pull the trigger and splatter my brain across the street.

He put more pressure on the gun, his breath straight caffeine. “You think it’d matter if I killed you?”

Two footsteps approached, cowboy boots. And then Melvin, Brightside’s sheriff, asked, “Everything okay?”

I wanted to say no, it wasn’t right at all, but the gun was still there, pinning me down.

Black boots said, “Yeah, it’s fine. Go back inside where it’s warm.”

Melvin said, “I’m okay. Reminds me of home.”

“I was just finishing up with this guy.” The prick tapped the side of my head, letting me know where he wanted to put the bullet.

“I think he learned his lesson,” Sheriff Melvin said.

Black boots pulled the gun off me and kicked my leg when he walked back to his car. “You get up before I’m gone and you’ll be sorry.”

The Boots called themselves agents, but I never would. Even the term “cop” was too good for them.

Face down on the ground, though, I’d never been so still, my eyes on the American flag rippling back and forth.

Melvin chuckled. When I didn’t look at him, he said, “Know what I’m thinking right now?”

I turned just my face because I figured he wouldn’t leave until I did. He stood there, a huge smile hanging underneath the darkest pair of sunglasses.

“I was thinking about what that guy asked you. I was thinking no one would care.”

I got to my feet and stepped to the side. The Chrysler zipped by and for a split second I was staring into the eyes of the man who could have ended me. I wished he had.

Melvin asked, “You okay?”

I waited until the car made its way around the Circle and disappeared down Main Street. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

Melvin put his hand on my shoulder and guided me to the curb. He had this bushy white mustache, which made him look like the guy from the Quaker Oats commercials on a bender.

“Have a seat a second.”

I felt like I’d just been kicked in the balls, the body, the face, but I deserved it. I was the idiot who ran in front of a car. The idiot that thought Michelle would ever want to see me again. Even if she lived in the next city over, she wouldn’t come. Not unless it was to demand an apology or watch me suffer.

Melvin used the side of his cowboy boot to sweep the bloody gravel at my feet. “You sure you’re okay?” He pointed at the Cabin. “We can go in there.”

I didn’t know much about the Cabin at the time, but I knew enough to stay away.

I wiped off my hands, pretended like I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t have to ask Melvin to leave me alone or tell him I couldn’t talk. All I did was look up and read the banner rippling above the Square, the big red letters on both sides:

“Welcome to Brightside. Welcome Home.”