Crossing Six

By Robert Wilson

Kendall Huffman begins her senior year of high school unaware that the challenges that await her test her sense of self, and she must face those challenges alone. Crossing Six is the story of a teen forced to examine her beliefs and values without the companionship of her boyfriend, Brad, who betrays her and, more importantly, without the guidance and love of her best girlfriend from childhood, Sherri, who dies of cancer four months after school starts. Set in the rural Ohio town of Dunn, the novel describes people whose lives can’t help but overlap, a place where kindness and cruelty is magnified, especially in the lives of its young people. The protagonist’s self-respect and confidence is shaken with alarming speed and intensity. As she says in her graduation speech, “... it’s like I’ve had to learn all over again how to eat by myself, how to walk by myself, how to live by myself. I’ve been a child twice in this place; once is enough for most people, but I guess I’m a slow learner.” Along her way she also struggles as her parents, divorced since she was young, find new partners; her cross country season ends in disappointment; and her next closest friend, Misty, belittles and antagonizes her. She even becomes so depressed as she finds and loses friends while trying to deal with Sherri’s death that she cuts herself until she receives help from a psychologist. By the end of high school, however, she shows courage and self-awareness in her same speech as she says, “...I know that everyone knows everyone else’s business in a small town but that’s how it is with families, and my school and my town are more like a family than bigger schools and bigger towns. I’ve come in second place here all through high school: vice president for four years; next best girl runner in cross country; and now salutatorian. But I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, both with others and by myself. You know that song that says because of you I’ve changed for the better? Well, because of Dunn I’ve changed for the better too, but also for the worse. I’ve been just as selfish and sarcastic and spiteful as the losers in this place. But with the help of the people who know better, I’ve become independent and self-confident.”

Crossing Six is a mirror of the absurdities of small town high school life, as well as the poignant moments that only people who have known each other from kindergarten to senior farewell can share. Kendall might have been suffocated by loss and small town mentalities, but through her own efforts and with the help of others she finally accepts, she prevails.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Wilson
• Release date: Aug 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465895325

Robert Wilson

Robert Wilson was born in 1957. A graduate of Oxford University, he has worked in shipping, advertising and trading in Africa. He has travelled in Asia and Africa and has lived in Greece and West Africa. He is married and writes from an isolated farmhouse in Portugal.

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Crossing Six

Robert J. Wilson

Copyright 2011 Robert J. Wilson

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Prologue

All I can see in the rearview mirror is my stuff shoved in the back of Dr. Hart’s SUV that I shouldn’t even think of driving. One box has my sheets, comforter and pillows, another has my summer clothes, a third one has my winter coats and boots. As soon as my mom gets home from a half day’s work at the hospital we’re leaving Ohio for Providence. Sherri was the one who was supposed to go far away to college, and I was the one supposed to end up at one of our safety schools, Toledo or Bowling Green. But everything changed long before I lost Sherri and got my surprise acceptance letter in April.

I stare at the side mirror and hope I don’t run over the trash can as I back out into the street. The van is amazing: gray leather seats; touch screen DVD; built-in navigation system which will be especially useful because I’m one of those high school seniors guidance counselors warn people about—I’m going to a college I’ve only visited on-line. But Sherri and I had talked about Brown ever since we read The Giver and found out Lois Lowry was an alum, even though she dropped out, and from then on Brown was our dream school. No grades. Take whatever you want. Live next to the ocean. Forget Dr. Hart—my three swimming suits are in one of the boxes in the back.

I drive through downtown, pass the school, pass the pool and the park, and go just past Dollar General and the bridge over the river before I turn left onto a gravel road that leads into Dunn Memorial Park Cemetery. Sherri’s headstone is next to a smaller stone only the size of a shoebox but decorated with a red pin wheel and artificial red flowers. No one else is around so I park in the middle of the lane, step out of the SUV and walk to the letters that read Sherri Louise Powell 1991-2009.

I’ve only come back twice since the funeral and today I’m just here to say good-bye. I’d like to believe that she’ll go with me to a place I’ve never been and be my guardian angel or my friendly ghost or my spirit guide rather than just my memory. But I’m going to Rhode Island alone. A year ago, a summer ago, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere alone, but I went from being voted the junior attendant for football homecoming to being Facebook friendless my senior year. I lost Sherri and I lost myself and I don’t care if Brown has the ugliest colors—brown, red and white—of any college in America, Seventeen says the 2nd happiest people go there and I’m going to be one of them.

Chapter 1

Sherri’s first car was a blue Miata. The day she got her license we were on a tired country road and came to an intersection with Highway 6 and we were laughing and crazy and the music was loud and Sherri started to cross. And we were into the intersection and we both turned to the sound of the semi’s horn and for an instant Sherri took her foot off the accelerator and she was thinking of hitting the brake and we were both going to die.

Go, go, I screamed and she did and the truck squealed its brakes and Sherri went into the berm on the other side of 6 and she stopped before she went into a ditch. The semi stopped too, pulled off by the side of the road with its hazard lights blinking and the driver opened his door and stepped onto the road staring at us.

Sherri, we’ve got to get out of here, I said, but she was bawling so hard she couldn’t move so even though I didn’t have my license I got out, ran across to the other side of the car hoping it wasn’t still in drive, got back in, moved Sherri over and sped away. I stopped almost in Defiance in an empty parking lot of the Faith Baptist Church, turned off the car, and Sherri was still crying so hard she barely had time to breath.

Sherri, c’mon, get out of the car, I said. Just walk around a while. We’re ok now.

We stood together and held one another and neither one of us was Baptist and Sherri finally pulled away because we had to go on.

I’m never driving again with you in the car, she said. I’ll kill myself, that’s ok, but if I ever hurt you I’d kill myself.

We turned around and I drove us back home. When we came to 6 that truck was still by the side of the road and Sherri ducked in her seat and started to cry again. A string of about ten cars went past, each one just a little too close to risk it to the other side and I was sure the driver would recognize us and call the cops. Finally, though, I held my breath and sped across the intersection which felt like swimming across the deep end for the first time when the bottom is 12 feet but might as well be the center of the earth. You know you can’t touch and if you hesitate you’ll drown.

Sherri had driven across 6 100 times since then and we were together as usual on a shoe shopping trip in July our junior summer. I felt the familiar pull of panic in her: she stopped breathing, she squeezed the steering wheel, she froze.

Just go with it, I reminded her. When you know it’s clear you just have to trust that nothing bad will happen and you accelerate. Hey, you can cross 6 and you can do anything.

That day we found a parking space right away at the Defiance Mall. Defiance is the biggest town, the only town, close to us, and the Mall was filled with the usual crowd: retirees power-walking up and down the mallways; 14 year old gangsters dressed in chains and hoodies lurking by the fountain; mothers pushing strollers into Sears. We passed Circuit City and both laughed again; last spring Misty, out auxiliary friend who lived out in the country, was with us to buy her iPod. A cute clerk with short brown hair and a leather band around his wrist asked for her phone number at the check-out and she looked up at him.

I’m not going out with you, she said.

What? he said.

I’m not giving you my phone number. I’m not going out with you.

The guy stared at Misty like she was retarded, which she is.

It’s company policy. I’ve got to write your phone number on the receipt.

Sherri found her shoes right away—blue and white New Balance. She wiggled her toes and made me measure the room in the front of the shoes as if I were her mother.

Just right, I said. I think they’re pretty cool.

I think so too, Sherri said, and we went to check out.

I always have blisters on the ends of my toes because my shoes are too small on purpose. If I wore shoes that actually fit I’d look like a clown or Big Foot. So now my big toe has this gross callous on the tip and my second toe curls under; I practically end up on the bottom of my feet when I use nail polish. Sherri had these small, pretty feet with really tiny toes. I convinced her to fit her baby toe inside a thimble one day and at first she thought I was making fun of her. But I would do anything to have her feet.

Do you want to look in Old Navy? Sherri asked as we left Foot Locker.

Sure, I said, because I know Sherri liked that store. It reminds me too much of a garage sale though, too random with all those racks of clothes, bins of sweaters and pants, nothing folded, people just holding shirts up to their bodies and faking like they’re trying them on and then tossing them wherever.

You like this top? Sherri asked me. She wore size 0 pants and her shirts were dolls’ clothes. She was holding up a turquoise polo shirt, not her color.

Sure, I said. It looks good on you.

She carried it with her as we walked slowly through the other aisles using the shoppers’ pace that makes your feet and back hurt. We were in the jeans row when Sherri’s cell rang. Her step-mom, Annette.

Sherri stared at the floor as she listened. After 30 seconds she ended the call and dropped the phone in her over-the-shoulder bag from Mexico.

I’m on my own for dinner, she said.

No you’re not, I said.

Sherri smiled at me and after she bought the shirt we went back to her car.

What are you hungry for? she asked.

I didn’t have much money. How about Steak and Shake? I said.

We drove to the restaurant, parked, and once inside an old woman with gray hair pulled back tightly in a pony tail who was playing hostess took us to a booth in the back. Just as we predicted on the way over, Mary Ann Louis was our waitress.

Hi guys, she said wearing her black and white stained uniform.

Hi Mary Ann, I said. You still working here?

You kidding, she said, setting two smalls glasses of ice water in front of us. I’ll be here ‘til I’m dead.

She graduated last year and lived with her parents and her two year old son. She won the pageant during Dunn’s Heritage Days Festival when she was a junior while she was pregnant which was against the rules. I wouldn’t have cared except the Eagles had sponsored Sherri who finished first runner-up. I’ll admit that Mary Ann looked better in a swimsuit—after all Sherri had basically no figure and, at the time, big surprise, Mary Ann’s boobs were mammoth. But Sherri played the piano 100 times better than Mary Ann twirled a baton and Mary Ann actually said during her on-stage question that in ten years she saw herself as the president of a big company like Donald Trump. Well, two years down and eight to go and so far she was still serving hamburgers and breast milk and hadn’t taken the first step on the corporate ladder.

Can I start you guys off with something to drink? Mary Ann said.

We’re ready to order, I said. I had a double platter and a chocolate shake, and Sherri had a junior orange freeze and some fries.

Ok guys, Mary Ann said. I’ll put this in right away for you.

Sherri and I watched as she headed for the greasy kitchen.

I wonder, I said, if she ever wears her crown to work.

Sherri laughed. That stupid pageant, she said, tearing the paper off one end of her straw. I’m glad Rory Gibaldi won this year, though. I liked her song."

I guess, I said. But why do the stupid girls always win? Rory got her hand caught reaching for a cue ball one night when we still played pool in Tracy Zeigler’s basement.

I still feel sorry for her, Sherri said. Rory’s boyfriend cheated on her at church camp.

She still dresses like she buys her clothes at Crayola, I said.

We sat there watching goofy people coming and going until Mary Ann brought us our food and drinks.

There you go, guys, she said, and walked away.

She calls us guys again I’m gonna punch her in the face, I said.

Sherri sipped her freeze and nibbled her fries like a bird while I piled lettuce, onion slices and tomatoes on my burger.

Guess what Annette gave me today? Sherri said.

What?

Two giant plastic tubs. She said I should start weeding through my clothes, that I should take what I haven’t worn in the last year to Goodwill.

Sherri’s real mom died seven years earlier on Christmas Eve of breast cancer, and Donald, Sherri’s dad, a lawyer in town, rebounded with Annette, a true trophy wife whose head should be mounted on the wall over the fire place. They already planned to move to Florida after graduation to be close to Annette’s daughter. Sherri and I talked about everything, but we never talked about life after June 2nd. In a few months everyone would be signing yearbooks and senior pictures with BFF and I’d been thinking of writing Call Me Tonight because if Sherri ended up in Florida or Seattle or Rhode Island and I’d still be in Dunn she would still call me everyday if I didn’t call her first. There were best friends and then there was Sherri and me.

I speared the cherry in my shake with my straw and lifted it to my mouth. You want I can go through your clothes with you, I said. If I were sorting through my clothes I’d go to Plato’s Closet, not Goodwill.

As Sherri nodded and dipped a French fry in her orange ice cream I thought about taking those plastic tubs home with me and adopting her castoffs which were more expensive than any clothes I’d ever worn in my life, but as I finished my food and half of Sherri’s fries I knew once again I’d never fit in her body, which is the kind anorexics dream about. The kind that still fits in a car seat. The year before everything she ate except yogurt and strawberry jello made her sick. The doctors said it might be allergies, her periods, or colitis. I thought it was Annette, that Annette made her sick. In a word, Annette was a bitch, and not the good kind.

You guys save room for dessert? Mary Ann asked staring at our glasses. Three years working here and she still didn’t recognize ice cream as a dessert. She left one check and I did the math so we each paid our share. How weird is it to leave a tip for someone you sat next to in Spanish I. I did take 50€ off the table though when I noticed she’d written Thanks Guys! in her unmistakable special ed signature.

Sherri dropped me off at my house after we drove through Dunn a couple of times. The duplex where I lived with my mom could fit in Sherri’s garage which had three bays, one for Annette’s Freestar, one for Sherri’s Focus, and one for Donald’s Crown Victoria. I had chores like vacuuming and dusting. Annette had gone through all the cleaning ladies in Dunn and was on her second housecleaning service out of Defiance, Heaven Sent Maids. Angels, welcome to hell.

Tomorrow morning, right? I said, starting to get out of the car.

I’m so out of shape, Sherri said, but I just closed the door and waved. Sherri was born in shape.

Chapter 2

Donald, Sherri’s dad, was the type of man who argued with his Tom-Tom when he was given directions. He was also hated by his homeowners’ association. Ignoring the Summerset Villas restrictive covenants he trimmed his shrubs every two weeks in the summer and pruned his trees once a season because he didn’t trust the hired lawn service. The neighbors stopped inviting the Powells’ to their 4th of July party at the clubhouse and Annette stopped playing tennis across the street, droving instead to the Defiance Country Club. The day after Sherri and I went shopping she stepped into her Freestar when she saw me riding my bike up the driveway, then waited to see if I would park in the grass rather than bruise her asphalt.

What are you doing for senior pictures? she said.

She wore