No Shoulder
by Elisabeth B. Cummins
Chapter One
The trajectory of my life suddenly seemed crystal clear when I opened my eyes at the bottom of the drainage ditch. The sky was black, the stars missing, hidden by an invisible blanket of clouds. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, but I could feel the thick plastic in which my body was encased. I couldn’t see the endpoint of my life, but I knew, as sure as I could feel the cold ditch water seeping into my scalp, that I was not going to die here, alone. Not tonight.
I struggled to move the fingers on my right hand, which was pinned under my hip. Whoever had wrapped me up in a plastic cocoon had done so with skill. I could move my left hand just enough to push the plastic away slightly from my legs. I pushed outward with my knees, attempting a sideways squat, trying to give myself some room in the plastic.
The tarp stretched slowly, and I rolled with it, trying to find which way would help it unfurl. On my right was the edge of the ditch, studded with broken cattails and bits of garbage. To my left was a brackish bit of water, which looked like it would suck out my soul if I rolled into it.
Unfortunately, rolling to my right seemed to tighten the tarp and force my face into the dirt. I slowly edged to my left, searching for any give in the plastic. I took a deep breath, and rolled. I couldn’t tell the difference between the mud and the water until it hit me full in the face. I rolled faster, trying not to panic, to not accidentally open my mouth.
One more complete roll and I was through the water, onto a flat, muddy field. The tarp was still around me, but it was possible to push myself into a sitting position. The blackness swirled as I sat up, light spots appearing in my eyes and I leaned over and puked up the entire contents of my stomach. I walked my fingers tenderly over my face until I found a large, swollen egg-shaped bruise above my left eye.
I tried to rewind the past few hours of my life, but only came up with a few images—a bonfire, my mother’s nightgown, and Josh’s face, twisted in anguish. Where was he? Did he put me here?
The dizziness passed and I slowly stood up, locking my knees to hold me steady. I kicked my feet out of the tarp and slowly turned in place, looking for some sort of landmark to figure out where I could possibly be.
Suddenly, headlights appeared on the road above me, and I shrunk down instinctively. They passed above and behind me, not stopping for a battered girl in a ditch. I was on my own, but at least now I knew where I was. As the lights passed, they glowed on a “No Shoulder” sign at the edge of the road—the same one I passed on my way to school every morning—the same one with seven bullet holes in it that made a Snoopy silhouette. I was only fifteen minutes walking distance from home. Whoever dumped me was too lazy to take me very far away. If I was careful, I could manage getting home without further mishap.
As I struggled to put one foot in front of the other, flashes came back to me:
Lying on Mom’s bed with her nightgown in my arms.
The face of a very angry boy throwing the nightgown over my head.
My hands being forced behind me, tied with something.
Being thrown into a vehicle.
Feeling suffocated as someone pushed me down, his weight on top of me.
How many minutes did I lie there? How many of them were on top of me? Where was Josh? Why didn’t he save me?
Running through the poplars.
Headlights.
Rock.
