Meridian Page 2

  The letter I found in my search of the pockets was written by my mom in her lyrical script. I loved her hand writing. So fluid, so graceful. A pang of longing struck me as I began to read.

  December Twenty-first

  My Baby's Sixteenth Birthday

  Dearest Meridian,

  As hard as it is to write this letter, I know it is harder still for you to hold it, to read it. I know the sorrow in my heart is matched only by yours. I wish I could tell you not to be afraid.

  I've protected you all these years, and now I wonder if I didn't make your destiny more difficult, if my need to hang on to you as long as possible has placed you in great peril. There was never a good time. I kept thinking you'd ask me, demand to know more, but you simply accepted your life as normal, I know this is scary and unexpected. I hoped to travel with you to Auntie's this summer. To be with you. To help you. But we ran out of time and I hope someday you will forgive us. My darling girl, you are a woman now, and it's time you take your place as a Fenestra, a title I know you are unfamiliar with.

  You are special, Meridian. You have always known this. And so have I. I knew the moment your cry sounded on midnight this day sixteen years ago that you were remarkable. A blood Fenestra, with Creator-given gifts and blessed talents. Bui with these comes immense responsibility, for true greatness demands great sacrifice.

  The Creators will keep you safe on your journey. I do not know in what form they will appear, but I do know they will help you reach Auntie's. Know that we will see you again. If not in this lifetime, then on the other side. Know that you will be protected. Know that your journey is necessary and that others have felt what you are feeling. Though some aren't strong enough, I know you have the strength of a perfect diamond and the courage born of indelible compassion.

  Learn everything you can from Auntie. Be kind to yourself. Listen to your inner voice. Know that we love you, always, We, too, have to flee to safety. Under no circumstances come home. It is empty.

  You are going to Great-aunt Merry's home, in Revelation, Colorado. Get on the seven a.m. bus. Get off at the second stop after Walsenburg and watch for the green Land Rover, you'll know it when you see it. I have enclosed extra money in case you run into trouble or get hungry on the trip. I packed everything I think you'll want. Please forgive me if I overlooked a beloved token of your childhood. I did my best. Your father sends his love. Sam will miss you more than the rest of us combined, I fear. You are one of the Chosen, Meridian. For that I am both grateful and sorrowful. It means you must navigate your path without us, but know that I am always in your heart and you will always be in mine.

  Your mother in this life, Mom

  I hugged my bags to me and read the letter over and over again. I memorized it, casting furtive glances at anyone who entered the dingy space. They all appeared normal and completely uninterested in me. Twelve hours to kill. When my stomach growled, I checked out the vending machines.

  I plugged a dollar bill in and pressed the button for knockoff Hostess cupcakes. I leaned against the glass. The twirly thing caught on the edge of the packet before it could drop. Figures. Nothing was easy.

  I slammed the side of my fist against the glass. "Come on!" I shouted and pounded again. Finally, the cupcakes fell into the well and I fished them out.

  I tried to hum a few bars of "Happy Birthday," but I couldn't get past the first notes before tears clogged my throat and I was unable to breathe. Useless.

  "Happy super sixteenth birthday, Meridian."' I said, biting into the stale, waxy cupcake. I chewed and swallowed by rote, leaning back in the hard plastic chair and letting my head roll back. I studied the water stains on the ceiling high above me. They were the patina and sepia tones of ancient continental maps.

  When I was little, Sam's age maybe, I studied the single photograph of Great-aunt Merry we had in the house. It was snapped during her days as a nurse during World War II. I used to study it to see if I looked like her. My namesake. But Mom hadn't acted like Great-aunt Merry was a real person, more like she was a fairy tale or a myth.

  In my family, most of our birthdays were within three days of one another's, except for Dad's. But I shared the same day with

  Auntie. I'd never met her, and frankly, it was creepy being named after someone alive. Like they're paying attention, making sure you live up to whatever it is they think they are.

  Auntie left me alone except on my—our—birthday. She usually sent a quilt. They grew in size with me over the years. Created from intricately stitched, brightly colored tiny pieces of fabric, some were like impressionist paintings, others like photographs of places, people, and events I didn't recognize.

  Each time I touched them, they seemed to tell a story. Like a tuning fork being struck, a hum vibrated up my arm. So I put them in the hall closet, and tried not to come into contact with them. There was nothing comforting about the stack of quilts; it made the little hairs on my body stand up as though an electrical storm hovered over me.

  I jerked upright. Nothing had come this year. No package for me to open first thing in the morning. She knows I'm coming? Is this part of a plan? I resisted the urge to call my parents and ask. I inhaled ample breaths and tried to relax. Was my family really not home anymore?

  The bus station smelled of sweaty dollar bills and despair. It reeked of loneliness and solitary travel. Hyped on adrenaline and not just a little fear, I resisted tumbling toward the edge of sleep.

  I kept swiveling my head, thinking that if I could see the threat coming I could do something brave and heroic, like get the hell out of the way. There were so few people in the station that I began to relax. Just a little.

  Finally, the sun lit the edge of the horizon. The rapid-fire click of high heels broke the silence. The woman's raven hair, a color I could never find in a box, was tugged back into a tight bun. Her lips were bright fuchsia and her suit would have been a power suit in the fifties. It was well cared for, but the light blue fabric had faded to gray. She had a regal bearing, but it rang false to me as I studied the woven bag slung over her shoulder. She could carry the world in that bag.

  The woman raced to the counter. Her hands did as much talking as her mouth, yet the bored ticket seller barely flicked his eyes away from the muted television with a grainy screen on the counter beside him.

  The woman slapped the counter and stomped her heels, but her hodgepodge of Spanish and English didn't elicit much of a response from the clerk. Or maybe he chose not to understand her. I closed my eyes, leaned my head against my bags, and tried to tune out somebody else's problem.

  What had Mom packed for me? How could she know what I needed in this situation?

  The conversation at the counter escalated and the woman's gesticulations became more desperate. I didn't want to interfere. I'd studied five languages, but never actually used any of them. The clerk's voice went up an octave. The woman started to get hysterical. She didn't have enough money for the ticket.

  Fine. I lumbered to a standing position. Let the blood drain south and bring the feet back online. I dragged my bags behind me, hoping if I walked slow enough the confrontation would be over by the time I'd shuffled those ten feet to the counter.

  No dice. I asked if I could help.

  The clerk's face bloomed with near-comic relief. "She insists on going to some place in Colorado, but she's forty bucks short. I can't sell her a ticket."

  I explained this to the woman in my rudimentary Spanish. Her face lit up as if someone finally heard her. I listened as she poured out a river of story way too fast for me to catch. Her daughter was having babies—twins. She had no other money. Something about work and losing her job. She kept smiling at me, as if I could make it better.

  This could be a trick. A story to sucker me. But I dug into my coat pockets.

  Her name was Marcela Portalso. Forty bucks was everything to her. Surely Mom had given me more than two twenties for emergencies. I pushed the money under the glass partition.

  "No, no," Se
nora Portalso protested.

  "Por favor.” Please.

  She didn't want charity. A hard worker. No handouts.

  I reached into my Spanish vocabulary and put together the words for present and baby. I have no idea if I said them in the right order.

  The clerk shoved the ticket beneath the window. A beautiful smile decorated the senora's face and she clutched the ticket like it was a gift from God.

  Standing there, it was all I could do not to start crying for my own mother.

  Senora Portalso insisted she would pay me back in Colorado City or Denver, or Podunk. I wandered back to my corner. The minutes clicked by until finally they called our bus number. I stashed my duffel and backpack under the bus, inhaling exhaust as it idled. Ten other people crowded around, like a swarm of gnats, trying to be the first on. I hung back, feeling the need to keep my distance. I prayed they wouldn't talk to me. I didn't see any bad guys or speeding SUVs.

  I didn't want to get on the bus at all. I wasn't a big traveler; my parents only tried a family vacation once and it ended horribly.

  Senora Portalso patted the seat next to her with obvious enthusiasm when she saw me. As I settled into the cramped space, she tapped my hand. "Muy linda,” she kept saying. "Luz! Luz!"

  Very pretty. Light. Light.

  I stopped thanking her after the tenth time. I didn't have much to say. I was full of questions, but she couldn't answer any of them.

  I slept fitfully as the winter sun rose high in the sky, then drifted behind storm clouds. The lights of the interstate flashed in bursts as we passed truck stops and rest areas. The inside of the bus was a dingier, more claustrophobic dark than that of any room I'd ever slept in. I kept my knees tucked up tight against the seat in front of me so my feet stayed off the floor.

  Bits of conversation drifted through the darkened interior. "A job ... family ... never been to Colorado ... heading to Disney World ... nothing better to do ..." They all had a reason, even if it wasn't a good one, to be heading out. And what was mine? What happens if I stay on the bus? Go on to New York City or Miami? Will anyone notice? Will anyone care?

  We stopped at a couple of diners for pee breaks and to grab a quick snack. I came out of the bathroom at one place and heard a voice that sounded like my father's asking for more coffee. I whipped my head around, but it wasn't him. I kept an eye out for anyone following me; my father's ominous instructions to be careful echoed in my head.

  In the early morning light, I split a sandwich with the senora, who gave me a mealy apple and several crumbly homemade cookies in return. The cookies reminded me of my mother. I swiped at tears that leaked from the corners of my eyes. What were my parents doing now? Were they okay? Was Sam more scared than me?

  Oregon disappeared in the distance; Nevada and Utah came and went. Finally, we crossed the Colorado state line. In Durango, I ate a Milky Way. Mom wasn't here to tell me not to. Monte Vista was unremarkable; the snow picked up speed in Alamosa. In Walsenburg, we turned north, heading to Pueblo, but I watched for my stop as instructed. My heartbeat sped up. I watched the miles crawl by, barely seeing more than a thick cottony white.

  What I could see were lighted, flashing billboards proclaiming. FIND SALVATION IN REVELATION and FAITH IS A LIFESTYLE FOR ETERNITY. They popped up every few miles. Weird, It felt a little like the Vegas Strip.

  We drove into Revelation a full day after I'd gotten on the bus. Revelation. Colorado? Someone's idea of a joke, right? My school uniform was wrinkled and smudged with God knows what. My legs hurt from sitting all that time. I wanted a shower. Real sleep. Someone to tell me this was a mistake. Ha-ha! Anyone?

  We climbed down off the bus as fat white snowflakes fell with an icy hush. They covered my hair and stuck in my eyelashes.

  "Worst snowstorm in a century. Good thing we got here when we did; they're grounding the fleet until this blows over. Some fools are going to be spending Christmas in small towns they never wanted to see." The third driver of this trip cackled with mirth as he unloaded our bags. I wondered how he could find pleasure in other people's misery. I didn't ask.

  I collected my bags: hefting them, I wondered how they had gained so much weight riding under the bus.

  I was supposed to look for a green Land Rover. One I'd know when I saw it. With the flakes falling smaller but faster, I could barely make out the shapes of buses in the lot. White swirled everywhere. No sign of green anything.

  Already my fingers and nose had that stiff, unreal feeling of numbness. I'll recognize what when I see it? A person? The Land Rover? Aunt Merry herself?

  "Better get inside before you freeze." The driver slapped the luggage bin closed and hocked spit onto a snowdrift before hustling on his way.

  All the passengers raced inside, seeking light and heat. I stood alone. As always.

  Chapter 3

  Standing in the bleak alone of Revelation's bus terminal parking lot, I saw no answers, felt no epiphany.

  I trudged into the overflowing terminal. Grumpy stranded travelers seemed surprised that it snowed in Colorado right before Christmas. An elderly man in a wheelchair fiddled with the oxygen tube in his nose, and the hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood up. I was swamped with the feeling of holding my breath too long underwater, as if every moment without an inhalation was one closer to full-out panic.

  I'd felt this way at the car accident two days ago. My father's voice shouted in my head: "Promise you'll run. Run. Meridian, go!"

  I had to get away. I needed to create distance between me and the dying man. Someone, some person was dying, and they'd hurt me. I turned in circles, searching for a safe place, but there was nothing. I wheezed, choking on my breath.

  The old guy turned and stared in my direction. But not at me, past me, as if I weren't really standing there. His eyes widened and his hands reached toward me.

  A sharp pain shot through my head and rippled down my arm. I started stumbling toward the exit. The man's family bustled around, a toddler threw a tantrum, and still the old man's gaze locked on me until he smiled.

  The doors whooshed open and I tripped out into the snow. But I could breathe. The pull lessened and I kept going, backing away one step at a time. When I'd made it several blocks, I knelt and vomited in a curbside garbage can. I tasted blood. I grabbed a handful of what I hoped was clean snow and let it melt in my mouth until I could spit out the taste. Sweat beaded along my face and arms.

  Placing one foot in front of the other, I pushed on until I found a bench in an ATM booth. I sat to gather my strength, closing my eyes against the waves of nausea and pain. An ambulance raced past me with its lights flashing. It stopped at the bus station. I waited until they'd loaded a stretcher into it and then I ambled back to the station. I didn't have another option.

  "Meridian. Meridian." Hearing my name being yelled, I turned.

  A heavily pregnant woman toddled behind Senora Portalso, waving her hands. I stopped. I'd forgotten the senora.

  "I'm Dr. Portalso-Marquez. Thank you so much for helping my mother." She shook my hand and kissed my cheek.

  "You're welcome." I cleared my throat, uncomfortable with the senora's scrutiny.

  "She wants you to have this." Dr. Portalso-Marquez gestured to the senora, who nodded and handed me a fifty-dollar bill.

  "I only gave her forty bucks,"' I said, trying to give the money back.

  "Yes, but you shared your food and she wants to make sure you have enough to eat tonight. Are you okay? You don't look well."

  What must they think of me? What must they assume? "Oh, I'm fine, thanks. I can't—"

  "Please. Keep it. We have to get to the hospital—my contractions have started, I think." That explained the pain etched around her mouth and eyes. "Here's my card. If you need anything, please call me. My mother simply didn't receive the wire transfer before she left. She refuses to learn English." With a wave of her hand and a sigh. Dr. Portalso-Marquez turned to her mother.

  "Thank you." I put the business card in my p
ocket along with the money. "I'm meeting someone." I needed to explain that I wasn't alone.

  Senora Portalso leaned into her daughter and spoke rapidly. The young woman turned back to me and translated. "She wants you to know that she'll see you again." She shrugged, hesitating. "If you're sure you're okay?"

  "Bella, bella luz. " Beautiful, beautiful light. The Senora tapped my cheek and the two women moved toward the wall of doors.

  I wanted to ask what she knew about light. What did she see? But I kept my mouth shut and watched them walk away.

  I stayed behind a post as people shook the snow from their coats and stomped their feet. No one surveyed the bus station like they were searching for a sixteen-year-old they'd never met. Evidently, no one expected me.

  I sat for hours, eating Milky Ways and drinking ginger ale. I dredged out the paper Mom had written Auntie's address on:

  East Meets West

  115 North South Road

  I was torn between wanting to follow Mom's directions and thinking there was no way with this snow that a centurion was going to make it, even in a Land Rover.

  An imposing black man marched toward me. I studied my bags, refusing to make eye contact. His vibe was dangerous—contained, in a way that felt protective and intimidating.

  "You be needin' a cab, missy?" His thick African accent blew through me with power.

  "Huh?" I asked, my gaze snapping to his.

  "You be goin' someplace?" he said.

  I peered up at the clock. Five hours, eight Milky Ways, ten packages of Doritos, and three ginger ales. I shifted against the pillar I'd been holding up with ray back.

  "Maybe." I didn't know if he was the "you'll know it." as in, you'll be asked point-blank, or if this was fate giving my tush a little push. I can sit here and wait, or I can get myself to Auntie's house and demand answers.

  He scratched his chin and reached into his coat pocket but didn't take his spellbinding eyes off my face. "I make six trips to and from this place. You be sittin' here that whole time." He held out a photograph and shoved it under my nose. "My daughter Sofi. She's in Boston. Stuck in big nor'easter. I hope she not alone like you. I'm Josiah. Where your family? Where you need to go?"