VAL DAY-SANCHEZ

Copyright © 2016 Val Day-Sanchez

All rights reserved.

It was a sharp jab in her hip bone.  That was how passive-aggressive comments felt.  The words biting into her flesh.

“You should try out for the band, it’s not like I need you here to help with your brother.”

If her mother didn’t stop talking soon, she would have a bruise the next day. Ever since the bus accident her pain tolerance wasn’t as high. Even the slightest of comments would eat away at her. She tried to think of something else, rather than focus on her mother’s words, sometimes it made it sting less. She would still have a bruise but she wouldn’t feel it as much in the moment. She may even look down at her purple and blue path of skin in the morning not even remembering how it had come to be.

“Honestly Miriam, if you want to do something for yourself, I’m not going to stop you, I can manage.” Her mother continued but Miriam was somewhere else, letting the sound of her brother’s favorite cartoon fill her ears, ignoring the attack on her kidneys. She thought of how her mother would feel if she knew her fear of confrontation would inflict physical pain to her daughter. If her mother knew that any harsh comment, no matter how slight or buried, every word caused her daughter to suffer a lashing, abrasion, or beating. Of course the more deliberate the blow the more physically damaging.

Once, in middle school she had been hospitalized for a week. Of the seven day stint, Miriam only remembered three days. She was unconscious the other four. A kid on the bus had teased her relentlessly on the ride home. That was the day that she learned that any horrendous word spoken about her family was also taken out on her. The bully on the bus had called her brother, who suffered from cerebral palsy, a retard. That had been the final blow, it had come in the form of knock to the head and as he continued speaking, she felt her eyes swelling shut. The other kids watched as she rolled out of her seat and fell onto the floor, unable to get up. Her wrist was fractured. After that the student body stopped speaking to her, she was known as the “the girl that was harmed by words.” The old adage about sticks and stones breaking bones didn’t apply to Miriam.

The attack on the bus had been the worst experience, the bus driver along with her mother and the school principal needed there to be someone responsible. Miriam told them that the boy hadn’t laid a hand on her but the students on the bus also needed there to be a responsible party. The fact that she had fallen into a coma from some profanities and obscene name calling was too bizarre. Their imaginations along with their middle school desire to blend in had led to Jesse Park being sent to juvenile hall. Miriam stopped talking to people after that. She wore long sleeves and pants not wanting to call attention to her scars. She wore headphones underneath her hoodie ninety-percent of the time. She guarded herself and spent as much time as she could in her tiny room. No antibiotics, antiseptics, or any other over the counter remedies could remove her scars. In fact whenever she applied any miracle scar removal cream to them it only caused searing pain. Leaving a scar twice the size of the original wound.

Arriving exactly four minutes after the first bell rang, guaranteed that she would avoid most of the crowd but also not cause the security guards to report her as a truant. She pushed through the school’s double doors and made her way to her locker. Her hood blocking most of her peripheral vision, she careened right into something. Well not a something as much as someone. Lowering her hood slowly, but keeping Artic Monkeys blasting in her ears she stepped back to whisper a sorry. When she looked up, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. He was the most beautiful human she had ever seen. His hair was messy and hung over his dark brown eyes. He was tall but his shoulders slouched, giving the impression that he was shorter than he actually was. Dressed in a hoodie, t-shirt, jeans and sneakers there wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about him that Miriam could note. There was just something about him, something pulling her towards him, something that made her want to remove her headphones.

“Sorry,” Miriam read his lips. “I didn’t see you.” He offered, clearing his hair from his eyes.

She shook her head, “It’s alright.”

He sort of jumped back and she realized that she must be screaming, her headphones were loud enough to drown out the world. She felt her cheeks grow flushed but he only smiled.

“What are you listening to?”

“Artic Monkeys.” She replied, careful not to raise her voice. “I’m sort of obsessed with them lately.”

“Me too, you’ve got good taste.” He winked.

Miriam felt something in her hands, her scar riddled fingers were tingling as if they had fallen asleep and now she had called them to use, causing the pens and needles sensation to move throughout her phalanges. She wanted to pull off her gloves and inspect them but she didn’t want to reveal them, thus introducing a series of intrusive questions that she wasn’t ready to answer. Instead she focused on the handsome human in front of her. “Me too.”

“I’m Marco, new from Phoenix. What’s your name?”

“Miriam, not new, from here.”

He smiled. “I’d love to see you around.”

The word love did something to Miriam, just as her hand had been sent into frenzy when he had commented on her taste in music, now she felt her arms and chest rise, as if an invisible string was tied to her sternum and his words had lifted her up. Suddenly a wave of anxiety rushed over her. “Nice meeting you.” She said as evenly as she could muster before running into the girl’s bathroom.

Ripping off her gloves she first inspected her hands before yanking up her sleeves and examining her arms. Her scars were lightening, some of the smaller ones had completely disappeared. Could kind words heal her?

Miriam wasn’t sure if she was more shocked by the revelation that a cute boy had spoken to her, and more so that his innocent flirting had caused her scars to disappear. This was almost as surprising as the fact that no one else in her life had ever said anything to affect her scars. Had no one ever spoken one kind thing to her in her lifetime? Miriam was cynical but even to her, this sounded unreasonable. She was now adamantly determined to find out more about Marco. She pushed her earphones in and scanned the cafeteria. Their high school wasn’t very big, it was a private charter school for the arts. He shouldn’t be difficult to locate. Being new, he wouldn’t’ have a gaggle of friends to fade into. As she scanned the room, she felt someone behind her, without turning down her music she moved slightly, giving them ample room to move past her. But then a hand gently touched her covered arm, and she turned to see the cause of this hindrance. It was Marco.

“Hi, I was hoping I’d see you, you want to sit together?”

The words hoping to see you, released the pain she’d felt in her hip since, her mother had accosted her about being ten minutes late from school two days ago. “We can sit on the patio.” Miriam suggested.

“I’ll follow you.”

Miriam nodded. She navigated through the cafeteria and out the back doors to the covered patio. It was late fall, and the weather was unpredictable. Most people didn’t want to risk being rained on, leaving the patio mostly deserted. There was a couple that was so tightly wrapped around one another that it reminded Miriam of a warped sculpture depicting one body with two heads. She sat at the table farthest from them and Marco sat across from her.

“What are your other favorite bands?” Marco asked biting into an apple.

“The Kooks, Glass Animals, The 1975. What about you?”

“All the ones you said, plus Alabama Shakes, The Black Keys and Bloc Party.”

“What about Vampire Weekend and Hozier?”

“Yes and only when I want a girl to like me so yes.”

It was his turn to blush and Miriam smiled. “So why did you move here?”

“I wanted more rain. Phoenix is a desert.”

“Your parents just let you go?”

Marco’s face remained unchanged but Miriam noticed his eyes grow dark, and distant.

“They uh, they were in a car crash, no survivors. I have an uncle that lives out here.”

“I’m so sorry.” Miriam didn’t know what else to say, she wished she hadn’t pried.

“Let’s just talk about music.”

“Sounds good, Britney Spears?”

Marco very dramatically planted his face into his palm. “Noooo, tell me you’re not one of those pop obsessed girls.”

“Britney Spears isn’t just pop, she’s an icon of her generation, a legend and you know you sing along to all of her stuff. Besides liking pop doesn’t guarantee I have bad taste. What’s the most embarrassing record you own?”

“I don’t think I know you well enough Miriam.”

The bell rang and Miriam was reminded where they were.

“You want to get out of here?”

“Ditching on your first day?”

“Well orphan’s kinda get a break. You can just tell them I kidnapped you or something.”

“Or something?” Why was she even considering this? Her mom would freak out, not to mention her body really didn’t need to sit inside Principal Garcia’s office while she listed all of Miriam’s negative characteristics one by one. Miriam thought about how each cut would begin forming down her arm as the principal spoke. But then she looked up at Marco’s eyes and she thought about how his words could heal each of those scars, she needed to know more about him. She needed to know why he was able to do something that even she could not.

“Yeah okay, let’s go.”

Marco’s face lit up. “Yeah? You’ll come?”

“Hurry, before I change my mind.” Miriam warned, a smile forming on her lips.

“Come on.” He grabbed her hand and they began to run through the patio, through the small opening that housed the dumpster. They pushed through the gate and were free from the confines of high school and Marco let go of her hand and Miriam wanted it back in hers but she didn’t reach for it.

“Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?” Marco countered. “I just don’t want to do another class introduction. I’ve been through four already and because I’m registered as a photog major the same kids are in all of my classes. So they get to hear me spout off about moving from the Southwest, three more times if I’d stayed.” Marco stopped walking and looked at Miriam. “Thanks for coming with me. Ditching isn’t as fun alone.”

“I don’t know, I kind of like being alone.” As soon as she said it she heard how awful it could sound, as if she rather he not be there at all. “I’m sorry I just meant, I have a hard time with most people.”

Once again Marco stopped and looked at her, studied her. “You’re different aren’t you?”

She prepared herself for Marco to continue, his words could either cut or cure her.

“I don’t mean in a bad way, listen can I take you to my uncle’s? I need to show you something.”

Go to a strange boy’s house because he wants to show me something? Every Lifetime Original Movie argued against her agreeing to this, but then she couldn’t think of any cautionary tales that started with a girl that was harmed by words and a boy that had the power to heal them. “Okay.”

“It’s not far, we can walk, just a couple more blocks. My uncles at work. He won’t be back for a couple days. He travels a lot.” Marco paused. “Sorry this is sounding more and more like I want to get you alone, like I have these un-pure intentions, it’s not like that I swear. I mean maybe I would but not today, I’d like to get to know you better first. I mean if you wanted to of course. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything.”

Miriam burst out laughing and Marco joined her. “I don’t think you could have dug a bigger hole for yourself.” Miriam choked out between giggles.

“Agreed.” Marco laughed rounding a corner. “Let’s not mention that again.”

Miriam nodded.

“It’s this one.” Marco directed, walking up the steps to a small cottage and Miriam followed. The house was decorated with sculptures, masks, and an assortment of musical instruments, each of which had nothing in common except that they all seemed to be exotic, as if collected from a faraway land. It had the presence of a museum more than a domicile.

“What’s your uncle do?” Miriam asked taking off her backpack and leaning it against the wall.

“Art collector or museum curator or buyer or something. I just know he has a lot of cool stuff that we can’t touch or barely breathe on, and that he’s gone a lot. My rooms upstairs.”

“Okay.” As she began to follow him up the stairs, she felt her phone vibrate in her back pocket. She pulled it out and she saw that she had a text, it was from her mother. “Where are you? Please don’t be the irresponsible lazy, dropout stereotype that everyone expects.” Her mother was always more direct when Miriam wasn’t directly in front of her. Miriam felt her shoulder flinch and her neck tighten as it was sunk into by the words from the message. Her knee shifted as if it was kicked and she grabbed onto the banister to keep from losing her footing.

“You’re okay, put your phone away. You’re smart and funny and charming and you’re putting up with me, some guy you just met. Who has been extremely awkward and weird, so you must be very kind.”

Miriam felt her stomach relax, as if an icepack had been pplied and it ahd been given weeks to heal, yet it had only been a handful of words and a matte rof seconds. Her once choked neck wa no longer agiated and raw, her knee swerved back into place, once again supporting her as she walked. “You know what you’re doing? You know about me?” Miraim asked confused.

“Don’t be mad, but ever since my parents…” Marco paused as if pushing a thought aside before conintinguing. “The first time I learned that I could help people, just by talking was when I was three. My parent’s got me this little puppy, a mutt. Part labrodor, part sheep dog, and chow. His name was Crayon. And he was my playmate so I talked to him all the time, and one day he got out. My mom took me out to look for him and we foudnhim, someone had hit him and just left him on the side of the road. I was crying and shwipering into his fur, I don’t even rmember what I said, but he cmae back to life.”

Miriam listened, aghast.

“After that it was my mom, she cut herself aking difnner and I ran and go ther a bandaid, started cracking jokes and the bleeding stopped immediately. My parents coudnt’ see that harm it in, they calle dit my gift, until I got to middle school. Got my first girlfriend. Of course I was extra nice to her, wrote her little notes, whispered how beatufity she was into her ear during lunch. Anyway she was a nice girl but after three moths with me she was a self-obsessed, an inflated ego that made her impossible to tolerate. Seeing the transformatioin in my firlfirnd my parents advised me to keep my distance. To moniter myself, make srue I wasn’t giving toomuch attention to one person at a time. You know the whel too much of a good thing or whatever. But after they passed wway I started thinking, there has to be someoneout there that’ the opposite of me. Someone that really needs me around, someone I can be myself around without fear of turning them into some sort of megalomanica. When I knew I was moving here I started erasrchign it. I cmae acorss your blog and at first I thought maybe it was just some girl being hyperbolic but then today when I saw you, I knew it was all true.”

Miriam listened intelntly to each word. She imagined every scene he dexribedin detail butone question loomed in hter mind, one she wsa too afraid to mention. Why hadn’t he saved his parents? Instead she presented a different question when she spoke. “What are you proposing?”

“I think we could be good together.” Marco’s voice was honest genuine.

“Together how?”

“Oh no, you’re not getting me to go on like I din before, I’ve learned my lesson.” Marco chuckled. “Come off the stairs, there really is something I want to show you.”

“I should text my mom before she shows up here. She’s tracking my phone.”

“I’ll help you with that in a minute, come on this is important.”

Marcos room you oudl tell had once been additional storage for his uncles’ artifacts but they ahd had ahstilly been pusehed to the side. Some of them were boxed up. Marco’s band poster hung on the walls along with a large chart tha was filled with a series fo dots and small abbreviated words consuming the lasrge poster board.

“I started charting my comments. I wrote down everythin I said and to who and what the perceived effect was. If I knew them I coudld ask, but strangers weren’t so accomdating to expressing how my words how made them feel.”

A look of amazement filled Miraiam’s face, she ahd never doen anything like this. Of course she ahd the scars to tell her how someone’s words ahd affected her. “What did you find out by doing that?”

“That my words only help people if I’m being sincere.” Marco replied excitedly, Miriam could tell he had no one to talk to about this, at least his parents had passed away. “Also everyone has a different tipping point.”

“Tipping point?” Miriam asked sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Where my comments stop being helpful and start to turn the person into a egomaniacal mess.”

“Is there any coming back from that?”

“As long as I stop interacting with them, they turn back to normal in a few weeks. Each day they become more of their formal self.”

“What are the factors?”

Marco hesitated and Miraiam could tell that he was searching for the right way to respond. “Self esteem, family situation, exposure to abuse. Things like that. Now tell me about you, do the words have to be directed right at you?”

“Yes, but I’ve found scars that appear even when I’m alone, like if the person is talking about me in another room, it can harm me. I had to block the comments on my blog, as a precaution. On was on the city bus a few months ago, it crashed, since then I get hurt more easily.”

“Do you want to try something?” Marco asked moving closer to her.

“Okay.” Miriam replied apprehenseively.

“Put out your hands.”

She acquiesced.

“You are unique. You are smart. You’re mysterious in a way that makes me want to get to you more. I think that you would make a wonderful friend. You wouldn’t leave someone just because they were a little different.” At the last comment he grinned. “You’re accepting.”

By touching her as he spoke she felt her scars leaving her at an expediated rate. After six months, Miriam was scar free. Her and Marco spent as much time toghether as possible. Every morning before school they would meet at her locker. It began that Marco didn’t even need to speak in order to help her the cuts and brusies that had accumulated overnight. She simply needed to be around her. Marco charted and graphed all fo this. Keeing a new journal just for Miriam. If it sounds like they had become more of a scientist and his test subject youwoudl be mistaken. They were truly two indiviuals that needed one another in order to remain sane. They were made for one antoher. They had become obessessed with their origin. Why they were they way that they were. They coudlnt’ find any real tangiable evidence, at firs tit was disheratingly but hten it became just another thing that pusjhed them togher, made they cling to one another even tighter.

After twelve months, Miriam stopped scarring at all. Gone were her headphones, long sleeves and pants. She was done hiding. She was suddenly involved in extraculrriluer activies. She and Marco started a band. They were planning to tour local cities once school breaked for the summer. Marco realized he could talk to people without inventing an inflated ego as long as Miriam was present. Everythign seemed to be perfect.

It was fourteen months since they had met, Mirima was on the city bus, when a woman commented on her short skirt, referung to her as a little slut. Miriam felt her anger rise her temper flared and she replied, “Why don’t you shut up you old hag.” The woman flew across the bus, her body crumbling against the floor. Terrified and disgusted with herself, Miriam ran to Marco’s.

“Hey you.” Marco smiled opening the door and pulling her in close. As he went kiss her, he stopped once he saw her face. “What is it?”

“I hurt someone. My words hurt someone.”

The look of fear that consumed Marco’s face scared her even more. “Come inside.” They rusehed up the stairs immedidately to Marco’s room, dissecting every aspect of the what had occure don the bus. Marco compared the amount of time they had spent togher before finally deducing that Miriam was not simply healed from his words but she had become more powerful, able to master her trait and inflict it upon others. After vowing to watch what she said, she felt slightly comffoted but something still remained within in her. Something that she was not unsure of.

Two weeks later in school, their band competed at Battle of the Bands, Miriam and Marco knew there would be judges and the students would have an opinion. She was prepared to keep quiet. After their set the crowd erupted into a roaraus applause and she felt herself soaring. As they exited the stage the next band commented on hwo good they ahd sounded. Miriam felt as if she was floating. When she walked into the girls bathroom, two girls were looking at her, and Miraim for the first time in her life was expecting more accolades, perhaps making what happned even worse.

“You’re dating Marco right?”

Miriam nodded.

“You know he killed his parents?” The first girl said flatly.

Miriam tried to push her anger away, but it was consuming her and she couldn’t hold it back. One word. “Liar!” Miriam felt the word come out of her throat like it was an object and it hit the girls square in the chest, pushing her back into her firend who immediately dropped to her knees.

“What did you do? She’s not breathing.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t---.” Miriam stammered.

“You killed her.” The girl’s voice was quiet as she began to back away from Miriam.

“I dind’t, I couldn’t have, I didn’t touch her.” Miriam felt herself panicking, her heart was beating so fast and hard thathseh thought it was tyring to escape her chest. “I’ll get help.” She didn’t remember how she found Marco, but they were somehow on the patio, where they had shared their first meal together.

“If we hurry I can help, remember?” Marco explained calmly, even though Miriam could tell that he too was terriefied. Holding her hand they ran to the girl’s bathroom. The girl was still coruached over her friend, she looked both terrified and angered to have Miraim and Marco present. Marco palced his hand on the unconscious girl’s wrist.

“Does she have a pulse?” Miriam asked desperately.

Marco didn’t reply. Instead he leaned in close to the girl’s ear and began to whisper so softly that no one could hear what he said.

After five agnolizing minutes of this the girls began to breathe, she sat up slowly, staring admirinignly at Marco.

“We should go.” Marco mumbled before taking Miriam’s hand and waling out of the bathorroom and out the doors of the school, never hearing that they had won the Battle of the Bands.

Later that night, in Marco’s room Miriam watched as him move around his room. Something about him different, he was closed off, and cold. Even when he would speak to her, it came across as rehersed.

“You don’t want to be around me anymore do you? I don’t blame you, I’m a monster.” Miriam prepared herself for the lashing that his words would create, even though it had been months since anyone’s words had harmed her.

Marco looked at her shocked. “No that’s not it, I did this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I should have been honest with you when we met.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you knew the truth, what those girls said wouldn’t have surprised you so much, youwoudl have been able to let it go.”

“But you idn’t kill your parents. It was a car crash.” Mmiraim replied ansxiouly. What was he saying?

“Maybe, but I didn’t save them. I was out of town, snowboarding with friends. If I had been closesr, I ocudl have saved them. So yes maybe I know that Id in’t kill them, but I didn’t help them you know?”

Miriam wrapped her arms around him, and Marco winced. “What is it?”

“It’s ntohign.”

“Tell me.” Miriam coaxed and Marco removed his shirt, revealing a massive wound that began at his chest ending at his hip. It looke like a burn.

“Who did this?”

“I did, when I helped that girl.”

Miriam couldn’t belive what she was seeing. She ahd spent nearly two years with Marco, charting all of their words, their affects, studying one antoher because their lives depended on it and she had never known that by taking away others pain he was hurting himself. “Does this happen everytime?”

“Little things, no.”

“You know what I’m asking. When you took my scars away, did you get wounds like this?”

“Not this bad. It was six months before all your scars were gone. Spacing it all out helps. But a life.” Maro’s voice trailed off.

“So she was dead? I had killed her. I killed someone and you brought them back to life and nearly killed yourself.”

Marco pulled Miriam in close. Afraid of how this conversation was going ot end.

Miriam whispered into his neck. “I can’t.”

“We’re good togher. We’re smart, we can figure all of this out. We’re drawn together.”

“Marco we were fooling ourselves to think that we can control this, whatever it is.” She pulled away from him. Her lips finding his and she kissed him gently, and thenmore passionately, and they both could feel within kthat kiss that it would be their last. “I could never live with myself if I hurt you. I can barely forgive myself for letting you make my life so much better at your own detriment.”

“It was my choice, I found you, I needed you. I needed to heop someone after…And then I met you and you were so much, you’re wonderful Miriam.”

“I love you too, and one one day you’ll find someone that isn’t so broken. Someon you can be yourself around.”

“I’m still not sure you’re not it.”

Valerie Day-Sánchez enjoys reading and writing across genres, although young adult is her favorite at the moment. Threshold is her first attempt at Sci-Fi. Her other work consists of YA Fantasy Trilogy, Harlow Whittaker. She received both her B.A. and M.A. in Communication Studies from New Mexico State University. Her love of the desert Southwest keeps her close to home although she loves to travel, especially when she gets a chance to try the local cuisine. Playing with her two sons and the family’s Boston Terrier, Winston, are how she occupies her time when she’ not writing.