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Maggie shoved me. I didn't blame her. She was hurt and angry. It was hard enough just to come out to her. I'd image being told your long term boyfriend is not only gay but is in love with your cousin would elicit such a reaction. Unfortunately, I had a high center of gravity. I was close enough to the edge of the sidewalk that the unexpected force threw me off balance. I began to fall. Neither of us had seen the truck barreling across the bridge. The driver didn't have enough time to break and I couldn't stop myself from falling into the street and into his path. Time seemed to slow to an eternity. It reminded me of those slow-mo points in thriller movies. Never thought I'd be the subject of one. Life had other plans it seemed.

Recognizing my impending doom, I only had enough time to tense for impact. I closed my eyes, waiting to die. I wished for it to be quick. No…I wished not to be there. I didn't want to go out like this. If only I could fall out of the way…and I did. No impact came. Instead, the truck roared past with a rush of air. Brakes screamed in protest. I opened my eyes. I was on solid ground, standing on the other side of the bridge in fact as if I had been standing there the whole time. Maggie stood across from me on the opposite sidewalk, her face frozen in horror. She had expected my bloody end just as I had. Instead of being turned into a gory hood ornament, I was mysteriously safe. Had I rolled to safety? Did I hit my head and black out for those few seconds? Did some superhero come in my hour of need? These were reasonable and semi-logical questions to fill the gap in the time and space that I couldn't account for.

The two of us met eyes. Mine were wide with surprise, I'm sure. Maggie's were tear-filled and frightened. Having been close to her for so long, I could read her fairly well. That look was one of immense relief and deep shame.

"What the hell?" the driver's shout shattered Maggie's and my thousand yard stare, "You alright, kid?"

The first breath in what felt like ages entered my lungs. I croaked out a response, "Yeah! I'm good! Sorry!"

"Damn kids almost gave me a heart attack," he chided, "Don't play so close to the street next time."

I managed a wave as he climbed back into the idling vehicle and continued on his journey. I turned back to where Maggie had been and blinked. She was gone. A quick visual sweep caught a glimpse of her yellow skirt disappearing around the old gate house at the end of the draw bridge. I would have chased after her, but I was still so shaken. Checking myself over, I found no bruises, cuts, or scrapes to indicate a rough and tumble with the asphalt. I was vaguely aware of that I'd probably be jazzed on near-death adrenaline the rest of the day. Maybe I could get my hands to stop shaking before my gig tonight.

As I turned to walk home, a shift of scenery in my peripheral hooked my attention. The best way to describe what hung in the air was a single long crack. No thicker than a thread of yarn, the split would have been hard to notice if the empty space around it wasn't so distorted. I moved closer to examine after a brief check for traffic. The strange phenomenon looked like a warped and edge-less mirror up close. It was settled right where I had fallen before the truck nearly killed me. The sound of screaming brakes echoed in my memory and made me cringe. What is this? I thought, reaching to see if it was tangible. Before my fingers touched, the 'crack' sealed itself with a barely audible pop. It was gone.

I backed away and found myself jogging at a quick pace to get away from the weirdness. It wasn't even two o'clock and it had been the strangest day I've ever had.

Ms. Stephanie greeted me at the door. Her auburn hair was streaked with grey and pulled up into a messy braid that crowed her head. She had already changed into her usual tank top and sweats from her realtor suit.

"There you are, Alex," she said, half scolding, "It's your turn to get the kitchen ready before dinner. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I replied without conviction, "Just broke up with Maggie."

"That's rough, kiddo," Ms. Stephanie said, "It was brave of you to tell her the truth."

She stepped aside and admitted me inside with a quick kiss to my head. I was glad my half-truth satisfied her concern with how I looked. I don't think my foster mom would be thrilled to hear that I almost became roadkill. Besides that, I don't think I could have described what happened without sounding as crazy as I thought I was.

After dinner, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Black hair swept to one side. My bangs cascaded over one eye, half veiling the world in the deep violet I had dyed them a couple of days ago. The one visible emerald green eye contrasted the dye. Totally intended. In my mid-teens, puberty had left me in an awkward stage. I was scrawny and lanky. My lack of body weight wasn't helped by the fact that I didn't eat much. There was no major disorder impressed upon me. I just didn't find much enjoyment in food. Further eating too much interfered with my voice at performance time.

Deciding that my gothic make-up was dark and brooding enough, I pulled on my favorite "greaser" jacket. It faux black leather had a dull sheen that allowed the polished stainless steel zippers really pop. I caught sight of the fiery feather that adorned the left shoulder and my heart sank into my boots. Maggie had lovingly painted the unofficial trademark of my band onto the jacket for my birthday last year. I absolutely loved it. In a way, I still did love her. We had always been close and had established a close connection immediately. However, over the past two years, I had come to realize that my physical attractions lay more on the XY side of the spectrum. It probably took me too long to come to the decision to tell her. But, I couldn't string her along any more, especially since she had been hinting she wanted things to progress physically. Maggie was undeniably beautiful; petite, frizzy yet somehow charming blonde hair, bright blue eyes that seemed to shine even in the dark. I was always proud to be her escort to a dance or the movies. But there was the simple fact that I found the idea of getting intimate with any girl's…intimates?...disturbing. Even the mention of it kind of wigged me out. That quick wave of repulsion shook me back to the here and now.

I pulled open the bathroom door before the sound of impish giggles reached my ears to warn me. The trap sprang and a fist drove into my stomach. For the second time today, all breath escaped me. The impact and subsequent pain doubled me over. I gripped the door frame fighting to stay on my knees since my feet had apparently fled already.

Even through my blurred vision, I recognized the pair of high tops just under my nose. Ms. Stephanie's evil off-spring, Devin, was in fits of laughter above me. No doubt my foster brother, Brian, was playing the part of enabling bystander. Devin was a down right bully. His mom was aware of his mean streak, but caring for three boys by herself and trying to sell real estate didn't leave much time to address Devin's anger issues. Brian only went along with Devin's menace as a survival tactic. I felt sorry for the peon.

"Just wanted to pass on good luck for your little talent show, geek," Devin said mockingly. Who still uses geek as a serious insult? The though managed to form between gasped breaths. The two boys sauntered off at Ms. Stephanie's call, allowing me the space to find my feet again. I stretched through the pain. A bruised diaphragm was just another obstacle to my singing. No bother, really.

I stared at the wall across the hall while I took a few deep breaths. It took me a full minute to realize the pattern of the familiar wallpaper was wrong. A swath the size of a car window was tilted at an odd angle, disrupting the vertical patterns surrounding it. It was almost as if someone had taken spare wallpaper and haphazardly placed it over the other. At first, I thought Devin may have been pulling a prank, but he'd never do that much work for a silly joke. On closure inspection, I could see a tear down the center of the "new" layer. The rip ran its length and up under a family portrait that hung on the wall.

"Alex," Ms. Stephanie called from the front, "Let's go or we'll be late."

"Coming," I responded, still transfixed by the wall. I pressed my fingers to the curious area. The drywall behind it gave easily under pressure, crumbling at the touch. A draft seemed leak through the tear and from behind the portrait. Despite nagging thoughts that I should just walk away now, I felt compelled to investigate further. I lifted the portrait and immediately regretted it. Where there should have been a wall was a jagged hole. The drywall was gone and the wooden frame of the house was split and broken. What freaked me out further was the lack of a hook on which to hang the portrait. As I gaped into that dark void, attempting to get my mind to compute, a rumble like an animal's growl echoed out into the hall and sent me running for the door.