Tell me to Fight

by Charlotte Byrd

  “Get the fuck away from me,” I say, going to my room.

  I throw a few things into a backpack and walk out through the sliding door into the backyard.

  I make my way around the pool and go through the side door into the garage for the car.

  11

  Olive

  When I run away…

  I drive away with tears in my eyes. I feel like such a fool. When I get to the first stop sign, I can barely see and I’m forced to pull over. I cry into the steering wheel.

  I blame myself for letting that happen.

  I blame myself for trusting him.

  I blame myself for believing in him.

  But mostly, I mourn what we used to have.

  Not long ago, we had the most pure relationship two people could have. We were siblings and we loved each other like siblings.

  At least, that’s what I thought.

  When my tears dry, I look up a hotel or an Airbnb I can rent in the area. I find another house with a pool for not much more than a hotel room and go with that.

  The pool has been one of the most wonderful things about our house and I’m not going to let Owen make me give that up.

  Luckily, most of the money is in my account and he doesn’t have access to it.

  I debate how long I should book this house for, eventually settling on a week. That should give me some time to figure things out.

  The check-in instructions arrive via text almost immediately after my payment goes through.

  I drive two miles and park the car in front of a little white house with a turquoise door. There’s a large gold statue of a greyhound right outside. I run my fingers over its smooth head and snout as I punch the code into the keypad.

  There’s a wide reclining sectional couch in the middle of the room, facing a huge television. I drop my bag and curl up on it with my phone in my hand. I don’t wake up until the sun rises the following morning.

  I stretch my arms out and move my neck from side to side. I’ve never slept in a recliner before but I now know why so many people do. Given everything that happened, my sleep was incredibly restful.

  In the kitchen, I make myself some tea and then walk around the house with the cup in my hand.

  It’s a two-bedroom that looks a lot like the one I rented for Owen and me. Same mid-century modern design with furniture to match. One of the bedrooms leads out to the backyard with a square-shaped pool.

  Unable or perhaps unwilling to say no, I strip off my clothes and jump right in.

  The water is heated but it’s not particularly warm. I dive under and relish in my own weightlessness. My problems start to disappear one by one, as if the water is absorbing them. But that only lasts until I come back to the surface and inhale a breath of air.

  Later that morning, I drive by a local juice place and order a green smoothie before heading to a new hiking spot: Tahquitz Canyon.

  I’ve never been there before but reviewers were raving about it on the All Trails app. It's about two miles altogether with a waterfall.

  A waterfall in the middle of the desert? This I have to see.

  I drive up a steep road going straight into the mountains and park in the lot in front of the visitors’ center.

  After I pay, I follow the rocky trail further into the valley above the desert floor.

  A quarter of the way in, and I’m surrounded by tall granite mountains on three sides.

  I scan the sky for possible big horn sheep that the ranger said I might be lucky enough to spot. He has seen groups of them running down the face of one of these mountains at full speed. A mountain lion, who’s about seven feet in length and two hundred pounds, is known to wander these parts and the ranger suspected that he was the one chasing them.

  I’m in awe at how close nature and civilization exist out in the west. At night, I hear coyotes howling and here, only a few miles away from my house, there are mountain lions and big horn sheep living their lives. Some people might be put off by that, but I love it.

  I’ve lived in a city for a very long time and only now realize how claustrophobic it can be.

  There is a disconnect between the urban me and the wild me.

  Out here, I take a breath of fresh air and I feel free.

  Freer than I ever felt back east.

  The trail continues to get steeper and steeper and I’m forced to take a few short rests after I start to feel dizzy.

  If you keep doing this long enough, you’ll get stronger, I say to myself. Take a minute to stop to rest but keep going.

  It’s going to be worth it in the end.

  I start up the audiobook again. This isn’t my usual reading but I saw it and bought it on impulse.

  It’s about a woman who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada. The hike is over twenty-five hundred miles and takes about six months or so.

  Today, I’m struggling with doing only two.

  When I reach the middle of the hike, I can’t believe my eyes. In the middle of one of the harshest and hottest deserts in the world, there’s a tall waterfall.

  All of the falling water has formed a crystal clear lake in front of it.

  It’s a weekday and I’m the only one here.

  I take off my shoes and wade in. The water is much colder than in my pool but still warm enough to enjoy. In the blistering heat that made me sweat completely through my shirt, it’s actually quite refreshing.

  I love taking pictures and I even brought a selfie stick with me.

  I take pictures of the shore from inside the lake and of myself with the water all of the way up to my shoulders.

  Somewhat near the waterfall, there’s a towering boulder about twenty feet tall that’s shaped like an egg.

  The valley curves around it, but there’s still space in between the wall and the boulder to get through on the other side.

  Suddenly, I regret the fact that I brought my phone.

  I wade back to shore, drop it off, and rush back over. The only way to get closer to the waterfall is to swim or to press your back against the boulder and your feet against the granite wall and scoot through the opening.

  I figure I’ll try the latter first and then if I fall in, I’ll just swim.

  A little bit into the process, I suddenly start to freak out.

  There is no one around and I worry about falling in and hitting my head.

  I should’ve just started swimming.

  Why am I being so stupid?

  These thoughts start to crowd out my judgement and a panicky feeling rises through my body.

  I take a few deep breaths to calm myself. Then I talk to myself out loud.

  “It’s going to be okay, everything is fine. If you want to swim, just swim. Let go of your feet and slowly fall in. You won’t hit your head.”

  My body doesn’t comply.

  Instead, I continue to move slowly wedged in between two boulders until I climb out on the other side.

  I let out a deep sigh of relief.

  The waterfall isn’t big and it’s an easy swim under it.

  But I just sit on the ledge on the other side of the boulder and look up.

  Through the sunshine and against the bright blue sky, the falling water looks like it’s peppered with a thousand different diamonds.

  Mesmerized, I wrap my hands around my knees and lose myself in the beauty.

  I stay by the waterfall for a long time enjoying the solitude and the silence until a group of loud rowdy fifty year olds show up.

  They talk and laugh loudly, breaking my trance.

  When I get back to shore, one of the men makes a joke about how he’d go skinny dipping but only if I do.

  How dare you pollute this beautiful spot with your unwanted sexual come-ons? I want to ask him, but I don’t say anything.

  I ball up my fists instead and wait for the desire to punch him to wear off.

  When I get back to my car, I make a decision. I’m going to find my mother.

  12

 
; Olive

  When I go to find her…

  When I put her address into Google Maps on my phone, my hands start to tremble.

  I’ve looked it up before, but I’ve never done it with the intention of actually going there.

  Now that it’s time, I feel sick to my stomach.

  A million what-if possibilities run through my mind.

  What if she doesn’t want to see me?

  What if she slams the door in my face?

  What if she says that she doesn’t know what I’m talking about?

  I’d spend the rest of the day reading stories about adopted children finding their parents.

  In some cases, they are happy to see them but in most they aren’t. Maybe it’s just this website’s bias (the people who are using it to vent about their problems) but I try to prepare myself for the worst case scenario. She could say that I’m mistaken and that she wants me to leave her property.

  Air bursts out of me before I even realize that I’ve been holding my breath.

  “Okay, stop catastrophizing. Just drive,” I say to myself out loud.

  I turn onto a road going up into the mountains, first winding its way past a mobile home community.

  I glance at the phone.

  Her house is still a little bit further. When I drive a little too slow, the car behind me beeps. There isn’t anywhere to pull over to let them through so I speed up.

  Just around another bend is where the mansions start. I saw this when I looked at her house on my computer last night.

  The car behind me turns into one gate and I continue further.

  Three more houses later, and I turn into her driveway.

  There’s an intercom next to a beautiful modern oak gate. I’m too far away from it to reach it from my car, so I’m forced to put it in park and climb out.

  I look at the buttons.

  Despite how much I’ve examined this house from satellite, somehow I haven’t considered the fact that I could be turned away even before I actually get to see her.

  My heart starts to beat erratically.

  If whoever answers isn’t her and they don’t let me in, what do I do then?

  I tap my fingers on my thigh. Then without pressing any buttons, I get back inside and close the door.

  I don’t know what to say and I can’t press that button until I do.

  I sit in the car for some time trying to figure everything out.

  For some reason, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t see her open the door.

  Why not? I had so much time to think everything through.

  I thought that I would at least have that even if the entire conversation went to shit.

  And now?

  What if someone else answers the door?

  What do I say to them?

  A loud beep startles me.

  “Can I help you?” someone asks.

  I stare at the intercom through my open window, unable to move an inch.

  “Excuse me? Can you hear me?”

  The voice belongs to a woman but I can’t tell how old she is.

  “Um, yes…I’m here to see Josephine Rose Reyes,” I say slowly.

  There’s a silence on the other end.

  “Or maybe Josephine Rose Lebold now?”

  “Who is this?”

  “I’m…” I start to say but then I stop.

  I don’t know who I’m talking to.

  It might be a housekeeper or a sister or a daughter.

  I don’t know how much anyone in her family knows about me and I don’t want to make a relationship between us more difficult to establish.

  “It’s personal. I’m just looking for her. Does she live here?”

  “Please tell me your name,” the voice says after a long exhalation.

  I take a deep breath.

  “I’m not going to let you in here without your name,” the woman says.

  Now, it’s my turn to exhale.

  “My name is Olive Kernes.”

  “Hold on a minute,” she says.

  A long pause follows and then another.

  When I’m about to give up on her, the gate starts to slide open.

  I drive up the long driveway leading up to a very modern glass house overlooking a cliff.

  I park my car in the driveway and walk up the steps lined by orange trees on both sides.

  There is a large double door made of distressed wood the color of caramel. One of them has a wrought iron door knocker.

  I’m about to use it when the lock spins.

  “That’s simply for decorative purposes,” a woman with her hair in a bun says.

  With pursed lips, lined a nude color, a knee-length black dress, and a pristine white apron on top of it, she looks like a housekeeper in the movies.

  I had no idea anyone really employed people who looked like this.

  “Hi, I’m Olive Kernes,” I introduce myself, extending my hand.

  She shakes my hand but I can tell that my gesture throws her off.

  It’s like she never expected me to introduce myself to her.

  “Please follow me,” the housekeeper says, without giving me her name in response.

  I walk through an enormous marble archway and into an equally spacious living room that’s surrounded completely by glass. The views of the valley are expansive and magnificent.

  “This way please, ma’am,” the housekeeper says.

  I follow her down a large white hallway into another portion of the house.

  This looks like something of a sitting room. There are two luxurious couches facing one another and pointed at a large fireplace.

  A beautiful wingback chair sits at the head and a large marble coffee table centers the entire room. I look around for a television but I don’t find one.

  “Please wait here while I get Mrs. Jemisin.”

  The view pulls on me as if it were a gravitational force.

  The windows start at the floor and span the whole length of the wall, all twelve or so feet, up to the ceiling.

  Instead of sliding open, they fold open like an accordion but their hinges are so thin they are practically invisible.

  “Olive,” someone calls my name.

  Her voice is quiet and delicate and I stand here for a moment without turning to face her to relish the moment.

  13

  Olive

  When I see her…

  “Olive,” she says again.

  I take a deep breath, gather my courage, and turn around.

  The woman before me is about average height but petite in frame. She is in her early forties but she could easily pass for thirty-five.

  Dressed in leggings and a loose t-shirt, she doesn’t look like someone who would own a house like this.

  “You’re….Josephine,” I say quietly.

  She gives me a slight nod and asks me to sit down.

  It’s only now that I notice that she’s not wearing shoes or socks and has a silver anklet with a palm tree around her right foot.

  She takes a seat in the wingback chair and crosses her legs.

  “How can I help you?” she asks.

  Either she has no idea why I’m really here or she is playing her cards close to her chest.

  I sit on the edge of the couch next to her and take a deep breath.

  Afraid to meet her eyes, I look a little past her.

  How did I not notice this before? The wall is covered with pictures of her family.

  There are photos of Josephine and her husband in cities all over the world. Intermixed with shots of them in London, Rome, and Sydney are pictures of them near waterfalls and glaciers.

  “Is that your family?” I ask, pointing to the picture closest to her.

  It’s her smiling ear to ear with her husband and two small kids, both under the age of five.

  “Yes,” she says softly.

  I wait for her to elaborate but she doesn’t. “How can I help you, Olive?”

  Right, of course.

  Sh
e wants to get to the point.

  I’m stalling.

  Not just because I’m afraid to come right out and say what I need to say but also because I want to spend as much time with her as possible before she kicks me out.

  “What does your husband do?” I blurt out.

  The question is about as inappropriate as one could be, but once it’s out there I can’t really take it back.

  “He works for me,” she says, broadening her shoulders and smiling out of the corners of her lips. “With me,” she adds.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I add, totally humiliated.

  Why did I just assume that she had all of this because of a man?

  And even if I did, why did I come right out and say it?

  I’m such an idiot.

  “What can I help you with, Olive?” Josephine asks, pushing back her long sandy hair from one shoulder to another.

  I take a deep breath.

  When I open my mouth, it goes completely dry.

  I start to say something but then I can’t help but cough. Not wanting her to think that I’m stonewalling, I start anyway.

  “I’m your daughter,” I say, clearing my throat.

  The housekeeper placed two glasses of water on the coffee table before she left and I take a sip of mine.

  Josephine doesn’t react.

  I expect her to either be happy or mad but she has absolutely no reaction. Her effect remains flat and I’m not sure what to do with that.

  “Um, I got your records from a private investigator and it seems to all check out.”

  “Can I see them please?” she asks.

  I reach into my backpack and pull out the folder with all of the information that I have on her.

  It’s only when she has it in her hands that I realize that I should’ve probably made a copy of this.

  What if she takes them?

  What I lose the only information that I have? The only proof!

  I scoot to the edge of the couch and sit as close to her as possible as she lays the folder on her lap.

  She goes through it, examining each page carefully.