by R C Barnes
“I mean the other recording devices. Aren’t they running a video or something?”
Detective Kline laughed. “Believe it or not. This room is not set up for that.” He looked at me for a long time. His expression was a mix of concern and curiosity. “Should I bring the ADA back?” he asked.
“NO!” I cried, and a huge sob escaped from my chest. I figured this man should know what type of dark-hearted person he had saved from the fire, and I admitted my terrible secret. If it had been Echo, or Luther, or Ollie or Joanie, or anybody I loved at the top of that burning scaffold, I would have gotten the ladder to them. I knew I would have tried. I would have fought against the enormous pain of the broken ankle and my shaking muscles and made it happen. I would have held the burning ladder with my hands and withstood the burns if it meant someone I loved would get to safety. But it was Todd at the top of the scaffolding, so I didn’t. I could still hear his screams, followed by the roar of silence when they ended. I knew that sound would stay with me forever.
I said this through streaming tears, and when I finished, Detective Kline took my hand in his and grasped it with a warm understanding. His other hand reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, and he handed me a crimson-colored handkerchief to dry my face. “He was long gone,” he said. “There wasn’t anything to be done - anything you could have done. Don’t place that burden on yourself.”
I nodded in response, but my mind was blank. Every thought, every feeling that had been keeping house inside of me had been released for all to hear. I breathed freely. There was no tightness in my chest. No desire to grab a packet of hot sauce. No desire to burn inside.
I don’t know how long I sat in this pleasant state of exhausted mindlessness. But Detective Kline moved at last. He pulled a toothpick out of his pocket and placed it between his lips. He stood and stretched his back, releasing a bit of a groan. Smiling, he took my hand, squeezed it, and led me outside the room where Luther, Echo, Dusty, and Ollie, my family, awaited me.
LOOK UP CHILD
Joanie didn’t come by the house until all the excitement had died down. I was still bandaged from the burns and hobbling on the cast. When I opened the door, she stood there with her hands on her hips. An angry scowl darkened her face. “I should be really angry with you,” she said.
“But you’re not?” I replied, hopefully.
She crossed over the threshold, forcing me to step back. I wondered if she was this dominant when she did her pioneering work door to door. She turned and faced me with her arms crossed over her chest. “You lied to me,” she said.
“Yes, I did.”
“WHY? You knew you were in danger. Why didn’t you tell us what was going on? I mean that trip out to Monterey…why didn’t you say something then? Instead, you disappear to chase this drunk guy around, for what? To see his tattoo?” Joanie theatrically thrust her arms in the air. Her hands were in fists. “You have to trust me! I’m your best friend! Why don’t you trust me?! I hate this!
It was at that moment I should have told her. I should have said:
Joanie, I have this superpower. I know you don’t believe in this kind of thing, being a Jehovah’s Witness and all, but I can touch people’s tattoos and know their innermost secrets. I know the truths of others, so I lie as a defense mechanism for myself. I know in your book the tattoo touching sounds like spiritualism, and it makes me a demon in your eyes. So that’s why I lied to you, Joanie. I lied to you about the real purpose of the tattoos. I lied about the drugs, and the danger, and the threats. Because I can’t tell you the truth without also telling you I’m a tattoo psychic.
That’s probably what I should have said. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry.”
She looked at me. Tears of frustration were pooling in her eyes. She shook her head as if to ward off the emotion and headed into the kitchen. I thought it was odd she was seeking food, but then I heard the back-kitchen door open and the steps of Joanie venturing onto the closed-in porch. Silently I followed her out there.
The night was dark and clear. Joanie stood on the far side of the porch, looking up at the sky through the mesh screens. She turned as I stepped out, acknowledging my entrance.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Not really,” I replied. I knew Joanie meant emotionally and not physically. I wrapped my arms around my body, holding myself tightly. It was like I was trying to keep the feelings inside, trying to stay shrouded and protected. I needed to hear Joanie say we were cool. That she forgave me. I waited.
“The stars are really out tonight,” she said. “They’re gorgeous.”
I halfway gazed out at the night sky. There were a lot of stars out, but given recent events, I wasn’t in the mood to look at constellations or even the moon.
“You have to understand your mother is everywhere,” Joanie said. “She will speak to you in many ways. It took me years to understand that.” Joanie turned her head, and I could see tears were running down her face. “You have to be open.” She wiped the water from her cheeks and continued to speak. “I know I see my mother every time I watch waves hit the beach. I feel her whenever the wind blows against my face. I smell her when I open a jar of cold cream. You have to find your mother in the world and not be alone.”
Joanie turned her attention back to the stars and began to hum a song. Slowly, she moved rhythmically to the music, and then she began to give voice to the tune. I recognized the song at once. It was the melodic “Bridge Over Troubled Waters.” It was so beautiful, and Joanie sang it with such clarity and spirit I felt she was conducting church on my cluttered back porch. After a while, Joanie moved up behind me and put her arms around my chest. I was drawn to her and the comfort emanating from her internal channels of strength. It was a direct channel, a connection. She was so positive, so pure. She was the beacon of light, guiding me and illuminating me. She was a bridge. A bridge out of the darkness.
“Look,” Joanie’s eyes were gazing up into the night, and I saw what she wanted me to see. A beautiful crystallized star hung in the galaxy. It shined incredibly bright and looked like it was suspended there in the night by itself, all alone. “That’s you,” Joanie whispered in my ear. “That’s you. The dazzling fighter. You are the diamond in the sky. You stand alone, but you aren’t alone. You’re part of an entire galaxy out there. You are not alone.”
I focused on the star in the sky and wondered if I should make a wish. A wish for security to steady the future lying ahead. I stood very still and silent. A gentle wind came through the open windows on the porch. I could smell pine in the air. I canted my head, so the evening breeze brushed my face. My body’s senses were reaching out. It was like the essence of Bess was reaching out into the night with thin elongated fingers. It seemed like I was seeking a form of communion.
The woman I knew as my mother was gone. Technically, I was an orphan and, on the road to becoming an emancipated minor. It crossed my mind I could search for my biological father, but I wondered would he even want to know about me. I was in no hurry for that hard discovery. Echo was going to be adopted by Luther. Dusty would operate Cosmic Hearts and carry on. In time she would bring in other artists to work alongside her. She told me if I ended up going to UC Berkeley, I could work at Cosmic Hearts and keep the books on track and the store in the black. Our family would always have a financial interest in the store. I also suspected Dusty wanted me to continue using my Sherlock Holmes intuitiveness on her clients.
The danger was over. The future ahead of me looked as vast and promising and frightening as the wide-open black sky over my head. I focused on the crystal star, and tears rolled down my face. Joanie held me tighter and went back to humming the lyrics of the song about faithful perseverance and the grace of the Silver Girl. My chest shook with grief and fear of the unknown. I was still holding it in.
“Let it go. Let it go,” whispered Joanie, in between the lyrics. “It’s time to shine.”
With one giant heave, I felt a release of pain. I cried fo
r the loss of my mother. I cried for the flower garden that radiated all over her skin. I cried for her mischievous smile and the laughter exploding from her body. I cried for her mad crazed dancing. I cried for her inspired creativity. I cried for the secret hugs at night. I cried for sliced bananas and mangos and sugar-cinnamon on my waffles. I cried for the six other sparrows. I cried for what could have been and what had been taken away.
“I want my mother,” I managed to say in between my sobs to no one in particular. They were words spoken to the air, the night, to the pain slowly dissipating into the air.
“Of course, you do,” Joanie replied. Her body was shouldering my grief, carrying the weight with me.
And then we both saw it at the same time. Sailing through the night was a second star. It was slightly smaller than the other one. It twinkled and glided across the sky, leaving a short trail of cosmic light. The second star moved and aligned itself with the solitary bright star, and there was a quick flash as they were joined.
Hello Mom.
KORU
“Elizabeth Wynters?”
The woman at the reception desk smiled at me, her bright red lipstick outlined a broad smile and big teeth. She seemed pleasant, but I was scared.
“Is this your first visit?” she asked. I nodded my head. “Then I’ll need to see some ID.”
She verified my name as someone allowed access and put a checkmark next to it. She pointed with her pen in the direction to my right.
“Go along the corridor to your right here, then down to the nurses’ station. It’s covered with butterflies. You can’t miss it. There is a nurse, Melissa. She will be expecting you. I’m going to call ahead.”
I followed the directions, moving slowly. There were flowers and bright insects painted on the walls of the corridor. With each step, I felt both courageous and frightened.
It was Joanie who finally convinced me to come. Actually, she gave me an ultimatum. Either go to The Gardens and visit or attend a Sunday service with Jehovah’s Witnesses.
“Won’t I have to wear a dress?” I asked. I had been wearing shorts to get around the cast.
“Yes,” Joanie answered. Her eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms across her chest. She was challenging me to make the wrong choice.
“I don’t have any dresses,” I replied.
“I’ll lend you one of mine” was the steely response.
I made an expression of disgust, and Joanie smacked my shoulder in mock anger. “C’mon, it’s time,” she said. “It’s time you went. It’s been too long. It will be good for you.” She placed her hands on her hips and looked down at me. “It’s either that or Jesus.”
So here I was.
The nurses’ station was impossible to miss. Every space of the front counter was adorned with painted butterflies. There was no white showing through at all. A young woman, probably in her twenties, was waiting for me. She smiled and moved out from behind the station. She had the most amazing sparkling blue eyes.
“Elizabeth?” she asked.
“Bess,” I responded. “I go by Bess.”
“I’ll remember that. I’m glad to meet you. It’s nice to have you here.”
“Thank you.”
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you out to the conservatory. It’s quiet there today.”
I left the crutches at the station and Melissa led the way down a corridor. She opened a door that went into a glass expansion, connecting into a larger room with floor to ceiling windows. It was warm inside as there were all sorts of plants and flowers to be seen. It was like a greenhouse with the pungent smell of dirt mixed with the floral perfume of the multiple blooms.
I inhaled through my nostrils, capturing the multitude of scents. “Wow,” I said. “This is fantastic.”
Melissa looked around the space, and then she pointed. “She’s over by the angel fountain. She likes to listen to the water as it hits the stones.”
I looked in the direction of Melissa’s outstretched hand at the woman in the wheelchair with her back to us. She was facing the fountain, her head tilted to one side. Melissa took my elbow and guided me as I moved in my jerky fashion with the cast. She stood in front of the woman and leaned down to speak in her ear. As she spoke, she touched the woman’s hand, which sat like a claw on the blanket covering her legs. I didn’t move.
“Ms. Wynters. Terry. We have a visitor here to see you. She’s a lovely young woman.”
“I’m her daughter,” I added, biting my lip.
“Yes, of course,” Melissa said. “I see the resemblance.”
The woman in the chair made no movement. She remained still, facing the fountain. The fountain showed an assortment of angels and cherubs rejoicing in the spray of the water. I quickly counted the number of figures displayed. Eight. I thought of the sparrows.
Melissa smiled at her, squeezed the claw-like hand, and tucked the blanket snugly around her thin thighs. “Would you like me to stay while you visit?” she asked.
The first thought in my head was Yes. Yes, please stay. The courage I had felt earlier had drizzled away.
“I think I’ll be okay,” I said, but really, I was trying to convince myself.
Melissa nodded. “Alright. Twenty minutes then. That’s about the right amount of time. I’ll come back to get you.”
“Thank you, Melissa.”
Melissa walked away and went back out through the glass walkway. I came closer to my mother and sat down on a bench facing the fountain. It was relaxing to watch the water trickle over the stone cherubs and the rocks and allow the sound to transport you to another place.
I wondered if my mother was doing the same, and this was why it was her favorite spot. How do the nurses know this is her favorite spot? Were they just saying that as a way of putting me at ease? No. I had counted the number of cherubs playing in the water. I knew why this was her favorite spot.
I looked over at the face of the woman in the wheelchair. The woman who was responsible for me. The woman who had made me. The woman who loved and fought fiercely for my sister and me.
“Hello, Mom,” I said.
There was no response. The eyes stared at a place in the distance beyond me, beyond the fountain. Whatever she was looking at, it was a place only she could see.
My mother’s face was vastly different since I had last seen her. The horrible cuts and bruising around her cheeks, forehead, and neck were gone. But her left eyelid sloped over too much. Thin crease lines pulled at her mouth, and streaks of grey flashed throughout her hair. Gone was the fiery red color. Her hair had a washed-out orange dishrag tinge, and the nurses had brushed it back into a simple ponytail. The vibrancy and allurement had vanished, but her face was relaxed, with no signs of tension. It was a face of calm acceptance.
After being in an induced coma, Terry Wynters had suffered a stroke while coming out of the unconscious state. The stroke had impaired her speech and body movement. She couldn’t move, and she couldn’t talk. But she could listen, and she could feel.
I took her hands in mine. Her fingers were thin like the bones of a bird. They were cramped on the blanket, but they gave off warmth, indicating the vivid heat of this woman still resided inside. I clasped her hands, which allowed me to look away and talk without staring into her frozen face.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m sorry I haven’t been here sooner. For a long time, I wasn’t ready. I knew I would just sit here and cry and cry. And me crying would just upset you. So, I waited. I was afraid to see you. Afraid to see you…” “like this” was what I was thinking but didn’t say.
I took a deep breath and continued. “I hope you know I found Maxine, and what you set up for us has happened. You’re so clever, Mom. You’re amazing, really. You knew I would figure things out even when I didn’t think I would. I just had to stop being mad at you and feeling ashamed. I had to believe you loved me.”
With my confession out of the way, I was able to look at her. She sat immobile in the wheelchair, still staring ou
t at the place of nowhere.
“We’re all at the house, and Luther has filed the paperwork to adopt Echo. I mean, Eleanora.” I laughed softly. “Luther was surprised when he saw that. He didn’t know Echo was named after Billie Holiday.” I fell silent and tapped the fingers on my mother’s hand. “She misses you. Echo does. I’ll check with the nurses as to when would be a good time to bring her here. But I warn you, she has some hotdog riddles she wants you to hear, and they’re awful.”
I took another deep breath to say the rest. “I’ve decided not to have Luther adopt me. I’m going to become an emancipated minor, and I want to stay being a Wynters. I hope that’s okay.” I squeezed her hand when I said that. “I like being Elizabeth Wynters.”
Theresa Ann Wynters sat still in her wheelchair. Her hands unmoving in my grasp. Blood flushed her face, and I knew she could hear me. I imagined she was smiling.
About the Author
R.C. Barnes’ debut novel INK FOR THE BELOVED is a love letter to her adolescent years in the East Bay. The first book in the YA Tattoo Teller series is set in Berkeley and local readers will enjoy following amateur detective, Bess Wynters, and recognizing the areas she travels. For over twenty years, RC (also known as Robin Claire) has worked in the entertainment industry in film and television development. She was a long time development executive at Walt Disney Studios and if you’ve seen any movies featuring a dog and sled, Robin probably worked on it. Robin has published numerous short stories in sci-fi/mystery and dystopian anthologies.
On a perfect day, she can be found curled up with a book, listening to the rain outside, nibbling chocolate, and sipping tea or wine (depending on the hour). She lives in Berkeley and is the mother of three very nice people.
Also by R.C. Barnes
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