Unwritten: The Parker Allenton Chapters (Part 6)

Disclaimer: all characters in this short story are fictional/creations of my own imagination. Sights and locations are based on real cities/towns/National Parks located in the Western United States.

“Sokka you oaf! It’s time to come in!”

A clap of thunder tried to drown out Brooklyn’s voice as she cried out for her dog. It was hard to believe two hours earlier, she was sitting in the Allenton’s kitchen helping herself to a heaping plate of chicken parmesan, spring seemingly just around the corner. Two hours later, it was a completely different story. Brooklyn stood under the overhang of the roof, beckoning her dog and trying desperately to avoid getting wet in the first real downpour of spring.

“Sokka!”

Brooklyn wasn’t worried when Sokka didn’t come on first call. The old dog loved a good storm, so long as Brooklyn was nearby. Sometimes, he even asked to go out for a walk the minute water fell from the sky. Leash in mouth, Sokka would locate Brooklyn or Sam and drop the object at their feet, a look of longing in his eye. Sometimes, Brooklyn said yes, but more often than not, Sokka would curl up next to her by the fireplace, content with back rubs and ear scratches.

That wasn’t the case that night, however. Brooklyn let Sokka out for his evening bathroom break when the storm rolled in out of nowhere. That wasn’t unusual for the area. Mountain storms frequently appeared without warning, pillaging the earth for a few hours before retreating as though they were never present. This one was no different, and Brooklyn figured the snow would hold off for a few hours. She could allow Sokka to frolic in the rain for a few minutes before cajoling him back inside.

It took another cry before the stubborn dog finally left the tree line and headed for the house. Midway through his walk, though, Sokka froze in the middle of the backyard, his ears roving like a lighthouse. They swiveled left then right, picking up sounds and scents Brooklyn would never hear in a million years. Still, she watched his body language, trying to discern if it was a legitimate threat or a twig Sokka imagined into a sword.

Then, with no warning whatsoever, Sokka broke out in a sprint, breaking left to run around the long part of the house. Rather than follow, Brooklyn turned and dashed through the house, narrowly avoiding the kitchen table and a discarded laundry basket to cut her dog off in the front. It wasn’t that Sokka was a flight risk. More Brooklyn just didn’t want to chase him to the end of their driveway in the middle of a downpour.

“Alright, Sokka, let’s see how you like this.”

Pausing for a moment to grab a giant towel from the front closet, Brooklyn flung the front door open and prepared for her attack. It was a little impossible to do that though. Standing in the doorway was a very wet and very sad looking Parker Allenton accompanied by none other than a very proud looking Sokka.

“Parker!” The sight of the boy nearly sent Brooklyn into cardiac arrest. Her hand dramatically flung to her heart, as though that single motion would stop it from hammering in her chest. “Oh my gosh, come inside.”

But Parker didn’t move. He may have been standing in Brooklyn’s doorway, but she could tell he was very far away from the Pieper’s cottage. Parker was lost in some thought or world that was entirely his own.

Gingerly, Brooklyn reached out and took Parker’s hand in hers, guiding him into her house. His body followed mechanically, moving inside the entry enough to allow the screen door to shut behind him.

“Here,” Brooklyn handed Parker the towel in her hand, noting his hands felt like ice. She wondered how long he stood outside the door, waiting for someone to answer. “I just finished a load of laundry for my dad. I think he has some clothes that will fit you.”

Parker didn’t respond. He just stood in the entryway, staring at the towel in his hands like it was a foreign object. It was concerning. To Brooklyn, it really seemed like Parker was in some fuge-like trance, to the point where he might be unaware he was standing in her house.

“Give me one sec,” Brooklyn reached out and touched Parker’s shoulder. For a moment, he seemed to snap out of it. “I’ll be right back.” With a quick nod at Sokka, Brooklyn hurried for the mudroom. She stopped briefly to put a pot of water on the stove, though it wasn’t her main objective. Her goal was to find as much warm, dry clothing for Parker as possible, though she really had no idea if she was the same size as her dad. Sam was maybe an inch taller than Parker and their builds were similar enough that the latter could probably squeeze into at least one of his national park t-shirts or an old sweatshirt.

Satisfied with her selections, Brooklyn returned to the front room, relieved to see Parker moved. His soaked shoes were perched at the far corner of the welcome mat, and his feet were now covered by a protective Sokka, who was seemingly trying to warm the boy’s feet with his body. The sight made Brooklyn smile, though she was quick to conceal it. “Fresh from the dryer.” Brooklyn held up the laundry basket, the clothes radiating a comfortable warmth up to her face. “I grabbed a couple t-shirts, some sweats, shorts and a sweatshirt. There’s socks and underwear in there too, if you want.”

Pink heat burned through Brooklyn’s face at the mention of underwear. There were certain topics of conversation that still made her uncomfortable, even with her close friends. Apparently, unbeknownst to her until that moment, undergarments was one of those.

“You can change in the upstairs bathroom if you want,” Brooklyn cleared her throat and plowed on, though she noticed a hint of a smile playing at the corner of Parker’s lips. “Or the bedroom. Or the bathroom down here. Wherever you feel more comfortable.”

Parker took the laundry basket from Brooklyn, the smile now taking a more solid form on his face. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes said the words he couldn’t quite articulate.

“You can just throw your clothes in the hamper,” Brooklyn explained before stepping aside. “I’ll wash and dry them before you go.” Parker nodded, his first form of communication, before making his way to the upper level of the house. Sokka dutifully followed, sensing Parker needed his attention more than Brooklyn. Sokka was Brooklyn’s dog. Always had been, and always would be, but Sokka sensed a person in need. So long as Brooklyn was fine, Sokka would stick to Parker like glue for as long as the boy needed him.

The sound of a running shower harmonized with the outside rain, meaning Brooklyn was left to her own devices on the main floor. She busied herself with collecting the rest of the drying laundry, trying not to dwell on Parker’s bizarre mode. After she returned from dinner, Brooklyn spent most of the night worrying about her friend, wondering if she did the right thing by leaving him at his house. Part of her was relieved Parker showed up on her doorstep, even if his arrival was unorthodox.

The hum of pressurized water stopped, and Brooklyn turned her attention to the boiling pot of water on the stove. She still didn’t know what to do to help Parker outside of the obvious. Even at sixteen, Brooklyn was a survivalist by trade, and those instincts kicked in the minute Parker walked into her house. It just so happened, they were pretty good techniques for helping a friend and very much in Brooklyn’s wheelhouse.

“Take this.” Five minutes later, Brooklyn joined Parker in the living room, a cup of steaming tea in her hand. He was dressed in one of her dad’s old sweatshirts and a pair of ratty old sweatpants Sam usually dedicated to lazy Saturdays at the house. It wasn’t the high quality athletic clothing Parker was used to, but Brooklyn noted Parker looked comfortable and the clothes fit.

“What is it?” Brooklyn tried not to overreact to the words coming out of Parker’s mouth. It was the first time he spoke since his arrival, and his voice sounded like a forgotten record. Low and gravely from neglect.

“Tea.” On cue, Parker’s face scrunched in disgust. He despised any drink other than water, Gatorade and the occasional soda, though Brooklyn was slowly introducing him to the world of tea. “Chamomile.”

Parker reluctantly took the mug from Brooklyn’s hands. Instantly, his shoulders dropped and his body sagged, the lingering frost of anxiety melted away by the tea’s warmth. It was the effect Brooklyn intended. Whenever she was down and sad, just holding a warm cup of tea made Brooklyn feel better. It was as though the mug had magical properties. It could thaw the coldest of moods, and it made Brooklyn feel as though she was being hugged by a warm friend.

“This is how you kill me, isn’t it?” Parker took a sip of the liquid, swirling it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “Poison me with tea then feed me to the wolves in the backyard.”

Sokka’s head popped up from Parker’s lap defensively and glared at Brooklyn. Even though he was Brooklyn’s loyal companion, Sokka seemingly changed allegiances, at least for the time being.

“That would be cruel to the wolves.” Brooklyn winked at Parker, happy to see his parts of his personality return. The boy still wasn’t himself though. Sitting on the couch, Parker looked about half his size, more like a little kid and less like the man-child Brooklyn saw wandering the halls of the high school. The joy and cocksure attitude had been sucked right out of his being, and Brooklyn worried it was gone for good.

“He wasn’t always like that, you know.”

The words took Brooklyn by surprise. After the wolves comment, she and Parker settled into a comfortable silence, both of them drifting off to their own thoughts. Brooklyn absentmindedly stroked Sokka’s back, as the dog moved for maximum attention, while Parker sipped his tea, his mind clearly in the far off place.

“Your dad?”

Parker responded with a sullen nod but never looked in Brooklyn’s direction. “He used to be normal. Fun.”

Brooklyn’s eyebrow arched into her forehead. She assumed Parker lived in the same house, mostly because he never said otherwise. The only time Parker mentioned moving was when he admitted his parents thought about moving to Denver for his hockey career, but Parker put a stop to that. He didn’t want to leave his friends as a freshman in high school, so his parents decided to stay in Estes Park. That was the story he shared with Brooklyn while they were working on psych homework one night.

“What changed?” Brooklyn desperately wanted to reach out, touch Parker in some way, but she also didn’t want to upset whatever trance he entered. In the entire time he spoke, Parker never once placed in Brooklyn’s direction. He merely stared ahead, his eyes pointed at the winter but not actually seeing it. They were glazed over, lost in the memory or world he wandered to.

“I don’t know.” Finally, Parker glanced over at Brooklyn, and she noticed a glistening in his eyes. The first hint of tears starting to prick, “He used to own his own business with his best friend. Chad would design and build the house, and my dad would sell it, or, my dad would sell the land and Chad would build the house. But when I was ten, Chad left, and everything started going downhill.”

Brooklyn nodded but remained silent. Partly, it was because she had nothing to say. It’s not like there were magic words to disappear Parker’s pain or fix the past, and Brooklyn knew that. She knew her role was far more important, anyway. It was her job to stay silent and listen, giving Parker the opportunity to talk freely without judgement.

“I’m pretty sure it was about money.” Parker sniffled once, his voice elevating and cracking at nearly every opportunity. “My dad was obsessed with selling things. He just wanted to make as much money as possible, so he started buying and selling buildings all over town. Then, I got good at hockey. Like, really good. Good enough to be noticed in Colorado before the national tournaments, and I became a commodity. Something Dan Allenton could sell.”

Brooklyn noticed a slight dampness to Parker’s cheeks as a single stream of tears fell from his eyes. She wondered silently how long he held those tears in, banishing them to the back corner of his mind. Parker Allenton wasn’t a cryer. He wasn’t weak. He was the bold, self-assured hockey star. The boy who had his life together. The big man on campus at Estes Park High. He couldn’t cry. His reputation, his image, simply wouldn’t allow it.

But Parker Alleton did cry. In the safety of Brooklyn’s house, he let out the emotions that waited ever so patiently waited for their release. Brooklyn herself felt helpless, as her heart ached for her friend, while she couldn’t disappear Parker’s problems, there was one thing Brooklyn knew she could offer. A hug.

So, while Parker sobbed, Brooklyn reached around his broad shoulders and pulled him into her chest, hoping he felt the safe, warm power only a hug can offer.

“I thought if I was good enough, everything would go back to normal, you know?” When Parker spoke, his voice was rough, as though exhausted from the moment of vulnerability. “Dad would be happy. He and mom would stop fighting all the time. We would be a family again.”

Brooklyn’s body rocked back and forth on its own accord, a gentle sway that seemed to settle Parker’s rawness. His shoulders stilled as Brooklyn ran her fingers through his slightly damp hair, smoothing the waves just to see them pop back into formation.

“It’s not your fault Parker.”

“The school shrink says the same thing.”

“Well, I’m right, so she is too.” Brooklyn smiled and laid her cheek against the top of Parker’s head. She knew not to make a big deal of the shrink comment. Having to see the school counselor was a sentencing to high school hell. Relentless bullying ensued. The quote, crazy kids, unquote, were the butt of every joke, and Brooklyn thought it was unfair. In her opinion, going to the school counselor was a sign of bravery, especially for someone like Parker Allenton. “I can’t see your dad as a story guy though.”

“Yeah.” A chuckle shifted Parker’s wait on Brooklyn’s shoulder, “He was way better than my mom. Would make ‘em up on the spot if I asked.”

“What was your favorite?”

Parker popped up, and Brooklyn watched as he transformed from sullen teenager to naive little boy. His eyes grew wide as his hands animated the story, helping Brooklyn through the somewhat convoluted narrative. A young woman was being courted by three men: a sailor, who offered a life of adventure and freedom. A merchant who offered comfort and family, and a Duke who offered riches of the highest quality and jewels peasants could only famine. The woman truly loved the sailor, but while he offered adventure and true freedom, the others offered her multiple layers of stability.

“So who did the beautiful woman choose?” Despite herself, Brooklyn found herself sitting on the edge of her seat, enraptured by Parker’s tale. “It had to be the sailor. She actually loved him.”

“She sought the advice of the old beggar woman who lived on the edge of town,” Parker conceded, a twinkle in his eyes. “Legend said she could see all. Past, present and future, and it caused her to go mad.”

“It’s not that hard a decision,” Brooklyn remarked skeptically, forgetting, for a moment, this was a fictional story made up by a dad trying to get his son to sleep.

“You’re saying you wouldn’t be overwhelmed by a choice that could ultimately change the course of your life?”

Brooklyn shrugged, “If she really loves the sailor, she should pick him. Simple enough. No hocus pocus, mumbo jumbo fortune tellers.”

“I’ll make a note of it for next time.” Parker tried to hold a straight face, but the upturned corners of his cheeks gave away his amusement. “May I finish telling the story now?”

Brooklyn nodded and settled in for the roller coaster. The crazy lady gave the woman a piece of parchment but gave her a warning in the process. The woman would be cursed to see the lives of all those affected by her decision. Heeding the crazy lady’s warning, the beautiful woman buried the piece of parchment behind her house and married the merchant. For two years, the beautiful woman was content. The merchant provided a roof over her head, food and the promise of a family someday. She was comfortable until one day, she started seeing visions of the sailor she turned away. They were short clips of his life, moments in time where he was lost at sea and thinking of her. Another year passed, and the visions grew in intensity and prominence. It went from one or two visions a day to every waking minute. The beautiful woman could even escape in her sleep. It was as though she was living the sailor’s life as he was.

“So what did she do?”

“She went to the crazy lady,” Parker explained. “By then, she moved from the edge of town to the heart of the forest and built herself a giant log house filled with more books than even the greatest of libraries.”

“And that matters because?”

“I’m getting there,” Parker rolled his eyes. “So impatient.”

“Not my fault you tell stories like a grandma.”

“Ouch.” Parker grabbed at his chest as though he’d been shot, causing Brooklyn to giggle. “Anyway, the books matter because they were the stories of every person who ever lived. See, the crazy lady was cursed, just like the beautiful woman. The two of them were witnesses to the lives of every event in a human’s life, regardless if they were rich or poor.”

“But why was the beautiful woman cursed? She didn’t read the parchment.”

“It didn’t matter. The beautiful woman was cursed at birth. There was only one way to break the curse, and it was for the beautiful woman to follow her heart. She didn’t, and her curse was cemented.”

“So, what happened?” Brooklyn was struck by a pang of sadness she couldn’t understand. Her heart ached for the beautiful woman, just as it had a moment before for Parker.

“For a while, the beautiful woman did nothing,” Parker shrugged nonchalantly. “She went back to the merchant and tried to live her life. The visions were too much, though. She left the merchant, found the sailor, and lived ten blissful, happy years of her life, free of visions.”

“Only ten years?”

“The sailor died in an unfortunate accident. After he died, the beautiful woman joined the crazy lady in her cabin, and together, they recorded the lives of every living human together.”

“That’s awful!” Sokka popped his head up from Parker’s leg and looked at Brooklyn with alarm. “Your dad told you this when you were five?” “I think he was trying to tell me all actions have consequences or something like that,” Parker shrugged. “But think about it Brooklyn! How cool would it be if there was a library filled with books about every single person who ever lived?”

“Come on, Parker.” Brooklyn grabbed Parker’s now empty mug from the coffee table and headed for the kitchen. “That’s not actually possible.”

“Oh come on,” Parker followed Brooklyn into the kitchen, Sokka hot on his tails. He knew Brooklyn’s mind was more logical than fantastical. “You can’t tell me no part of you doesn’t believe that story is possible.”

“It’s impossible Parker! I mean, even if someone could build a library in the middle of a forest with no one finding out.”

“Which is one-hundred percent possible.”

“How could two women physically watch the lives of every person on the planet? There are one billion people on the planet!”

“Magic Pieper,” Parker tried to pick up his mug, which Brooklyn refilled with piping hot water, and nearly dropped that in the process. “Shit that’s hot.”

A hearty laugh escaped Brooklyn’s throat, and the conversation about magic libraries and cursed women ceased. Parker’s question, though, lingered in Brooklyn’s mind when they returned to the living room to watch Harry Potter. Parker’s choice, since he was the one having a bad day, but Brooklyn barely noticed the hulking train chasing down a flying blue car or the giant snake. Her head was still stuck on the books about every person who lived.

As Harry whirled through his second year of magic school, Brooklyn tried and failed to fit the puzzle pieces together. There was no logical way for a library to exist like that, and yet, when Parker told the story, it seemed so real. Brooklyn’s brain knew it wasn’t, but her heart couldn’t dismiss it so easily despite her best attempts. There was no magic library in the middle of the woods, just as there was no magic school in the middle of England.

Then why, after Brooklyn fell asleep on Parker’s shoulder, did her dreams conjure images of parchment and book lined walls so real Brooklyn swore it was a memory?