A Summertime Journey

brother handed down to him. His favorite is a worn-out and faded black Metallica “Kill ’Em All” shirt. He realizes why we were invited, but on the other hand, there will be girls, and maybe Larry will be so preoccupied with trying to impress everyone else he won’t notice us. Wishful thinking. Either way, the reward is worth the risk, and there’s no way we’re going to miss that party. We turn east onto Hill Road, which is lined on both sides by Lombardy poplars and cottonwood trees. Areas of the sidewalk twist and bulge from the massive roots below, and we use them for bike jumps when we ride.

CHAPTER FOUR
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I FIRST NOTICED THE female voice in my head when I was about nine years old. Back then, we lived in a shabby two-bedroom apartment that had gone through round after round of anemic cleaning as tenants came and went. In my bedroom, I peeled three different layers of paint off my wall; black, mint green, and white. At that time, my mom was in an abusive relationship with a man she met at a bar on State Street during a Saturday night, drunk fest. His name was Darren, and he was much younger than my mom. He said he’d been in the U.S. Navy, but when my mom met him, he was working as a line cook at Denny’s, a thankless job. My mom is strikingly beautiful and could have just about any man she wanted. I don’t know why she always picks such losers. Even worse, she picks abusive men, men who abuse her both physically and mentally. I don’t think she has very much self-esteem. After only one week of dating, Darren moved in with us. Bear, my dog, and I hated him. He tried to pretend to like me, but I could tell it was all for show. He detested Bear and was always threatening to “kill that dog.” Their relationship lasted about a month before my mom finally threw him out.
I was sleeping in my bed with Bear next to me on a school night when I was suddenly jolted out of my dream by my mom’s desperate pleas for Darren to stop hitting her. Soon her quiet crying and begging turned to a full-throttle scream as Darren was whaling on her. Darren was screaming at the top of his lungs about how he hates her, does everything for her, and she doesn’t love him. He was drunk again. His fists crashed against her body so hard that I could count the number of hits from my room. I was terrified and didn’t know what to do. Bear was now growling and scratching at my bedroom door. I knew if I opened my door, Bear would run to my mom’s room and try to get her attacker off of her. Unlike me, Bear was fearless. I was sure Darren would kill Bear, so my door remained closed. Frozen with fear, I curled up on my bed in the fetal position and cupped my hands over my ears to block out the chaos going on around me when I heard the voice—her voice. “I will let no harm come to you, Lance.”
At that moment, I wasn’t able to process in my mind what was happening. I opened my eyes, and there was a beautiful woman with olive skin and long black hair hovering above me with a most calming smile on her face, her long, white lace dress flowing as if a gust of wind had kicked up in my room. Her head was so close to my bedroom ceiling I was afraid she was going to bump it. Suddenly the screams from my mom’s room and barks from Bear began to slowly fade away like a TV that’s turned off for the night, and all that’s left is the smallest flicker of white light at the center of the screen that then, too, disappears.
I awaken, and I’m in a room, but it’s not my bedroom. This room is large, built out of stone and rock with smooth edges. The chamber is gray, dark, and cold, but oddly I feel safe and warm. Feet firmly planted on the ground, the woman in my bedroom is standing in front of me. She waves her hand for me to sit down on a crude wooden stool as she sits across from me, straightening the ruffles of her dress. I look around the room, and it’s bare except for two stools and an arched doorway with a crest masterfully crafted out of wood, with an ornate shield and two phoenixes. The details of the emblem are amazing and so realistic that I think the firebirds are actually moving. I stare intently at the armor shield and realize the phoenixes ARE really moving, wings flapping and their beaks opening and closing; they’re alive.
Their eyes are intense as if they have homed in on their prey and are watching its every move. Mesmerized and curious, I stand and begin to walk toward the door. Their eyes following me, and I realize I’m the prey. As I creep closer and closer, the intensity in the phoenixes’ eyes grow as they track me. I approach the halfway mark between my stool and the door, and the phoenixes’ sizes are rapidly increasing, and the wood begins cracking and splintering to the stone floor below. Flames emanate through the cracks, lighting the room, and now the fire of the phoenixes is all too real.
I take the opportunity to scan the room with the new light, its spacious and vacant, except the two stools and the lone door. I glance up and can’t see the ceiling; it feels like it goes on forever. Before my foot takes another step, the woman is next to me, pulling me backward. Forcefully, she says, “Don’t go any closer; they’re sentinels.”
She guides me back to my stool, and I obediently sit as she explains that this room