When They Fade by Jeyn Roberts

found out what happened to her.
    Is Tatum like her? “Bad”? Is she the girl parents lecture their kids about? No matter how many times I think about our short conversation, I can’t see it. In a way, Tatum reminds me of myself. If you had told me I’d be the kind of girl to end up dead in a field, I wouldn’t have believed it.
    Did I become a warning? Was I the example of what happens to young girls who run away with the boys they love?
    Parker came back a while ago. Before I could question him, he said he needed to go spend some time in the woods. He followed the path down to the right of the lake, and the trees swallowed him up. I want to go looking for him, but Mary talks me out of it.
    “Who knows where he is. Them woods go on forever. You’d be chasing after your own tail. He’ll be back soon enough.”
    “He knows something,” I say. “He said so himself. That some things can be changed.”
    “Then you’ll just have to wait till he gets his cryptic arse back.”
    I am too restless. I stand up and sit back down on the log several times. I even try walking around our little beach. I step around the wrought-iron tables, nodding at the people who occupy them. No one talks. They stand their guard, silent sentinels, waiting for their moment to be called back to the real world. Why? Is it because they believe they have no choice? Is there a choice? I reach up and bat at one of the paper lanterns, wondering why we behave this way. We can’t all have been this quiet when we were alive. We lived. We loved. I know I’m not the only one to have raced across a meadow or played on the school swing set at two in the morning.
    My fingers caress the paper of the lantern, and I get an idea. I swat at it, harder and harder, trying to tear through the tissue. I pause, waiting for someone to call out or ask me what I’m doing. Nothing. I swat harder. It’s become a challenge. If I can make this stupid thing fall off its wire, maybe I can accomplish something. Finally my nails catch it and the lantern comes tumbling down to the ground.
    I turn around to look at the closest faces. No one notices a thing. They’re too busy stuck in their own emptiness. When I look back up, the lantern has replaced itself.
    I’ve decided that I hate this world. I hate being dead.
    * * *
    We arrived at Woodstock two days before the event began. The radio had been talking about it for weeks, and Andrea and I knew we’d have to get there early or not get in at all. Already the roads were swamped with cars. The traffic went on for miles, and there was talk about shutting down the interstate. After being stuck in a car for what seemed like forever, Andrea and I were ready to have fun. But first we had to get situated. That would be the big problem. We’d heard on the radio that they were expecting hundreds of thousands of people in a location that would only accommodate fifty thousand.
    The lack of space hadn’t stopped anyone. Already there were thousands of people roaming about. We found a parking spot between a painted-up school bus and a group of motorcycles. Dozens of people sat around in the grass talking to each other. They passed around beers and smoked pot. Two girls flashed the peace sign at us as they wandered by. One of them seemed to have lost her shirt somewhere along the way. I blushed and turned away, which made a few of the bikers laugh at me.
    “Should we even bother trying to set up the tent?” I asked as I climbed out of the car and stretched my legs.
    Andrea stood up on her toes to try and get a better look. In the sea of people, we could see the occasional tent. But we’d have to walk for what seemed like miles if we wanted to find an open patch of land. “We might be better off sleeping in the car,” she agreed.
    “Probably drier,” I said. The news reports were predicting rain. I glanced over at the group of bikers. One of them lazily massaged his leg and winked at me. His friends laughed a bit too loudly when I