Chapter 4

I used to believe that I had a guardian angel. I even named her Mariel. She was the type who only stepped in when things got absolutely disastrous but was otherwise content to be a back seat driver to my life, occasionally putting her two cents in with a snide comment that more or less translated to "I told you so!"

Somewhere around the end of freshman year, I stopped believing in Mariel. Either she stopped performing with any proficiency or she just didn't have it in her any more to get me to listen to her. But on that last week before moving to Anchorage, she made up for her three-year sabbatical. Three things happened the next day that made me firmly believe that moving to Anchorage was the right decision, and now was the right time. If I had never before believed in a guardian angel, I would have now.

When I was sixteen, I started to volunteer at the local library, which was a perfect job for someone as taciturn and introspective as I was. At eighteen, it became a paying job. The day after Jenny and I found the apartment, my manager at the library said that she thought I might be leaving Soldotna after graduation, and she had arranged for a transfer to Anchorage if I wanted it. I could barely contain my happiness, especially when I told Jenny. I would, at the very least, be moving with a job.

In the mailbox that day was my tax refund. In all the recent excitement, I had forgotten that I had some money coming back. I didn't know how much it was until I opened the envelope, but it would be enough for the first month of expenses and some fun spending.

The final incident was what truly frightened me the most into moving. I got a phone call from, of all people, my ex-boyfriend's mom.

She had tried calling me a few times the day before, probably around the time I was asleep with Jenny. Apparently, Mark didn't go straight home after abandoning me at the side of the road. He went through town, taking the highwah headed south to Homer. About twenty miles or so out of town, he lost control of his vehicle and flipped off the road. Fortunately, there was a car following not too far behind, and they were able to call for an air lift to Central Peninsula Hospital, where he was now recovering from some serious injuries.

I didn't know what caused him to crash. I'd like to think that I had nothing t do with it, that this was the kid of purely random circumstance that could have happened to anyone. But I knew better than anyone what emotional condition he was in when he left me, and I knew, the way you just somehow know certain things, that I had everything to do with the accident.

Only two things went through my mind. First and most obvious, I could very well have been in that vehicle with him when he lost control. Second, his emotions had gotten the best of him. If I had stayed with him, this would only be the first of probably many repeated incidents that I knew I wouldn't have been able to handle. I knew that leaving him when I did was the right thing to do. As heartless as I must have sounded, I told his mom that I would not be visiting him at the hospital.

And I knew, beyond any doubt, that I had to leave Soldotna and this whole life forever.

On Friday night, immediately after our graduation ceremony, Jenny and I got into her car, already full with all the stuff we were bringing to Anchorage, and started on the one hundred fifty mile stretch of desolate mountain pass to our new home.

Through all of my life that I can remember, music has soothed me. I learned how to play piano when I was six, violin when I was nine, and guitar just a few years ago. When I was eleven, I collected CD's. Two years later, I had graduated to sheet music. For my sixteenth, my mother bought me a lap top with recording software. Music was always around me, always in my head, and never far from my heart. It didn't even take lyrics to move me. The right chords could do the trick.

When I packed everything I wanted to take to Anchorage with me (the rest was donated to goodwill), everything other than clothes and bathroom stuff was music related. To be fair, even a good portion of my clothes were music related. I packed my guitar, my binders full of sheet music, a massive case full of CD's, my computer (itself loaded with days worth of songs), and a set of decent speakers. Other than that, all I brought with me were two large suitcases of clothes, two photo albums, and a box of nostalgia-tainted trinkets. This is all would have to start my new life.

Jenny put me in charge of music selection for the drive. I had chosen a set of songs that were thematic for the occasion, music with a mix of excitement, apprehension, and sheer nervousness. I started to play the music as we left the auditorium's parking lot.

While I was in charge of the music, Jenny was definitely in charge of the conversation. She did her best to keep me excited instead of terrified, ad to her credit, she kept me laughing for most of the drive. This was Jenny's pure magic on me in action.

Somewhere just a few miles past the junction to the Seward Highway, the magic stopped working as I realized the same thing I did when Mark took me for the first leg of his ill-fated drive -- that this was the furthest I had ever been from Soldotna and everything that had been home for eighteen years. Jenny sensed what was about to happen, and she pulled into a rest stop just before I burst into sobs.

Jenny shut off the car's engine, then reached over to hold my hand. I gripped her hand tightly, and I was surprised to find it cold and shaking. She was scared too, she told me. I felt a little better knowing that this had an effect on her too. We sat there listening to my music for what seemed like hours. I knew we had to get going if we wanted to make it into Anchorage at a decent hour, so I signaled to Jenny that I was ready to go by releasing her hand and wiping my face dry. Jenny took the hint and started back on the road to Anchorage.