Right?
My Inner Roz had a louder voice than my logical one. She reminded me that knowing Jimmy was proof there was much more to the world around me than what I could see. The missing hours, my nightmare Jimmy had been sucked into, all of it showed me that the impossible was possible, you just had to be open to it.
Logical me argued back that ghosts didn't exist. That all the weird supernatural stuff happening to me was all in my head. That I had likely sunk into depression or a psychosis of sorts that had developed when Derek attacked me.
Then she hit below the belt:
Jimmy is a fragment of your imagination. You made him up to ease your guilt for killing Derek.
For a split second, I wavered. It was completely possible all of this could be explained by me having some kind of mental issue. A mental breakdown, if you will. After what I'd been through, that would be normal, expected even.
After all, I'm the only one who could see Jimmy. He hadn't shown up on the video the night Derek killed my mom. He had been totally undetected by Bonnie the night she came into my room. It was absolutely logical that my brain was making up this fantasy, in a sort of coping method.
But Inner Roz knew better. As logical and practical as mental illness sounded, my inner self knew things. Specific things.
I made a mental list of the things I knew for certain:
Jimmy is a real ghost and will always do his best to protect me.
Jimmy killed Derek, defending me.
Parker is dangerous. (But how?)
I’m missing two hours from my life.
My nightmares stopped, for the meantime.
Odie is the only one in school I fully trust (even though it's only been a week).
Jimmy has my complete trust, too. That's a given.
I love butterfly acrobats.
I hate clowns.
I tried to think of a tenth thing I knew, but I was headed for exhaustion and my brain quickly shut down anymore thinking. I had the sensation of a cool hand softly clasping itself over mine, and knew Jimmy was there. I laid my head on the back of the seat, sighing, and was about to give in to my fatigue-filled brain when Bonnie spoke.
“Roz, what do you know about Parker Evans?”
I raised my head and shrugged, trying to answer as honestly as I could.
“Not much. He's in a couple of my classes.”
“Are you friends with him?” Mitch asked.
“No,” I replied. “Just acquaintances.”
“I saw him bring you home Monday,” Bonnie said, shocking my mind to wakefulness. “I watched him pull up through the kitchen window.”
“Oh,” I said lamely. “Yeah, he did.”
“I don't want you getting rides from him again,” Mitch said firmly as he gripped the steering wheel.
“That won't be a problem,” I said just as firmly. “The guy is… off.”
Bonnie turned in the passenger seat and put her gaze on mine. “What do you mean? Off?”
I shook my head, trying to think of the words that wouldn't alarm her but at the same time, reassure her that I would not be spending anymore time with Parker.
“He just gives me a weird vibe. Like something isn't quite right.”
Mitch nodded. “So we're agreed. You'll stay away from him.”
“Agreed,” I vowed.
I hoped with all my heart Parker wouldn't pull any stunts with me again, so I would be able to keep my promise.
***
Once we arrived at the house, Mitch pulled the VW into the garage. I waited as he and Bonnie helped the sleeping kids from their seats before exiting.
Instead of heading inside with them, I wandered around the front yard to catch some fresh air. I was tired both mentally and physically, and I knew sleep was not far away, but I felt a need to stand amidst the whimsy that was the yard and try to gain some clarity.
The porch light glowed softly, creating shadows on the grass as I inspected the little ceramic animals. The peacock was my favorite, because of the colors. But there were a few oddities, too, that didn't quite belong in such a fantastic display.
There was an aardvark, an armadillo, a chicken, and a platypus amongst the other beautiful creations. I wondered about the foster children who had picked those animals out for themselves, and why they hadn't been able to take them when they'd left.
Strolling around, breathing in the cold night air, I stopped in my tracks when I spotted a giant ceramic rat perched at the base of one of the trees. It would have been hideous had it not been painted the brightest shades of neon I'd ever seen. Neon pink, blue, yellow, and green swirled in and out of each other across its surface, making me smile in surprise.
Now that creation was one that truly made me wonder. What sort of child would choose a rat for itself as a memento? Did this child help paint it as well? The swirling designs were so intricate, I had to think it was the work of Bonnie, sans any helpers.
Sighing, I straightened my shoulders and wrapped my arms around my chest. I raised my eyes to the dark sky above, noting how the stars looked different than they had at my mother’s house. Then again, maybe they didn't. I never really paid much attention to them before.
One single star to the northwest seemed to give a slight flash and twinkle just as I looked at it. I tilted my head, squinted my eyes, and peered. I caught the faintest blue color glowing around it, and I was immediately reminded of my mother. Blue had always been Jill’s favorite color, and before she'd lost herself completely to her addiction, she used to wear a silver charm bracelet with a blue star attached.
I stared up at that star for a long time while thoughts of my mom began to assault me one by one, punching me in the heart and kicking me in the soul. I couldn’t fight them off. Memories of her before she was gone, back when she was still a mother, flooded my entire being. Things like her scent, her touch, her laugh, her shining eyes, the feel of her hair against my cheek when she hugged me. The smell of bacon frying every Sunday morning, along with French toast. The way she'd sat at the kitchen table for hours trying to sew a button on my coat and getting mad at herself for not knowing how. And yet, she didn't move from that spot until she'd completed her task. The way she helped me with my worst subject, math, and would pat my head and encourage me to keep trying.
The memories had to have been at least a decade old, but they hit me as if they were something fresh, not the rotting, decayed past from whence they came.
They continued to attack me one by one, until finally I couldn't stand it any longer and I lost it.
Completely, totally, lost it.
“Why?” I screamed at the top of my lungs, aiming all the years of anger and frustration and neglect at the softly glowing star so far away in the sky. “Why did you leave me? How could you have left me to fend for myself? I was a child! YOUR CHILD!”
Years’ worth of unshed tears began to make their frantic escape, but I never noticed. All I could feel was my anger at her, my hatred for her, and even more than that was the fact that I still loved her even though she had neglected me and died.
“Was I ever a daughter to you?!” I cried out. “I loved you, and you threw me away!”
Suddenly hands came out of nowhere and firmly forced me around.
Bonnie.
Her face was full of shock and fear as she took in my appearance. Her hands gripped my upper arms firmly, gently, comfortingly. Her lovely eyes quickly filled with tears as she stared at me.
“Did she ever love me?” I sobbed brokenly, not giving one single crap about the neighbors who now stood on their front porch, whispering and watching the show. “I was her flesh and blood but it never mattered to her.”
The anger dissipated as I stood there with Bonnie, and my shoulders began to shake harder and harder as I sobbed heavily.
She didn't say a word, she simply wrapped me up in the most comforting hug I'd ever had in my life. She stood there with me in the freezing front yard, holding me, comforting me, reassuring me. Letting me cry.
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And then I heard her broken whisper, and felt her pain mingle with mine.
“I will never throw you away.”
***
That night, Bonnie was my mother in every sense of the word.
She carefully took me into the house and slowly walked me down the hallway toward my room. The whole time, her loving hands never left my shoulders. It was as if she knew I needed that touch of reassurance and comfort, and she made sure I got it.
She led me into my room, paused by the dresser to withdraw my pajamas, and then took me into my bathroom. She closed the toilet seat and sat me down upon it, and began running cool water in the sink.
I sat there crying for my lost childhood and dead mother. Trying to stop the tears was like trying to stop a force of nature, and I was powerless against it.
Bonnie knelt before me then, her face kind and so concerned. She raised a cool washcloth and wiped my eyes gently.
I sat there as the beginnings of numb finally took over, and allowed her ministrations. I'd never before experienced something like this, something so tender and… motherly.
At least, if I had experienced it, it'd not been for a long, long time.
Eventually, as she wiped the saline from my cheeks, the tears subsided and I soon realized my head was pounding. She handed me a glass of water and my nightly pills, which I dutifully took. She placed my pajamas on my lap silently and then left the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
I allowed the welcomed, blessed numbness to wash over me. I sighed in relief as it replaced the grief and anger, leaving only mere traces of it in its wake.
Once I was dressed for bed, I opened the bathroom door and paused. Bonnie was there, waiting for me. Concern still had itself etched across her countenance, and she looked tired.
“Lie down, Roz,” she said softly.
I did as I was told, not only because I was currently unable to think for myself, but also because she deserved my obedience, especially after tonight. She'd cared for me in one week more than my mother had in years.
Yes, indeed. Bonnie was worthy of my obedience.
Once I was in bed, the cat, Tobias, hopped up beside me. Odd, he’d never given two craps about me before, but tonight he suddenly began to show affection. He snuggled in the crook of my arm as I stroked his soft fur, purring.
It astonished me.
Bonnie took extra care pulling the comforter up around me, fluffing the pillows around me, and making sure I was comfortable. Once she was convinced I was as comfy as I could possibly be, she grabbed my desk chair and set it next to bed, where she took a seat.
“Roz,” she began slowly, “You know I'm aware of some of what you went through with your… well, in your old home.” I nodded. “I don't know all the details, not everything, but you're always welcome to talk to me whenever you need to.”
I nodded once more. “I appreciate it.”
She reached out and brushed my long hair away from my face, smiling softly at me.
“When I was in my twenties, I had a dream once,” her voice was small and quiet, but I listened intently. “I dreamt that I'd gotten pregnant and had a daughter with dark hair and blue eyes, quite similar to you. In my dream, I was there for her entire lifespan, loving her, supporting her, laughing and crying with her. It couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes long, but in my mind, it was a lifetime.”
She hesitated, and held my hands in hers. “I never once felt the need to give birth to any other child, because in my dream, I'd had her. She was so real to me, and I still love her and mourn her to this day. But the truth is, she wasn’t real, she was just a figment of my imagination. And then, one day, you arrived.”
She laughed softly, “You probably think I'm crazy,” she said, “and I know it's only been a week, but when you showed up here, it felt like she came home. Like my daughter… my dream daughter… came back home to me. It's weird, how a simple dream can have power over a person and shape their whole lives. Like I said, she may have only been a dream, but she's real to me.”
I felt an unexpected surge of goosebumps flow over my arms. Her words hit me to the core, what with my nightmares and the feelings I had about my mother.
“I don't think you're crazy,” I said softly. “I think you're beautiful.”
She smiled and dipped her head.
“Roz, please believe me when I say I will never throw you away.”
She stood slowly from her seat and bent at the waist, giving my forehead a mother’s kiss goodnight. Then, quietly, with one last sad smile, she left my room.
The bruise in my soul shifted once again, lighting up even more than it had before. It was healing, I was healing, and all because of this amazing family.
My family.
Jimmy’s cold, invisible form took shape beside me, once again swaddling me like something cherished. I snuggled into the coolness that was his space, sighing as only his presence could make me do. He was invisible, but I could feel him. As I was learning, sometimes it's not what we see that determines what we believe. It's what we feel.
“Goodnight, Jimmy,” I mumbled softly as my eyelids closed.
“Goodnight sweetheart,” came his whispered reply.
Tobias hissed.
CHAPTER 18
The week following my mother-of-all-meltdowns (as I liked to call it), passed swiftly. I soon developed a routine within my new school and new home, and made a better effort to be friendly to Devon and her crew.
But not Parker.
Each morning, I would eat whatever deliciousness Bonnie prepared, which was totally unnecessary for her to do, but highly appreciated. Next, I would catch a ride with Mitch to school, which usually involved singing along to the loudly played music blasting from the speakers. Bands like Tool, Chevelle, Seether, and Volbeat were typically on his playlist, and I had zero complaints with the music choices. Banging my head in the passenger seat every morning, while Amelia and Vincent mimicked in the back, became my favorite laughter-inducing way to start each day.
Once we'd arrive at the high school, I'd hop out of the car, wave goodbye, then look for Odie right away. Without fail, she'd be at my locker waiting for me, every single time.
She quickly earned the title of best friend with her big heart, clever sarcasm, and endless laughter. Art class was the best time for us to bond, thanks to the awesomeness of Mr. Harken, who simply smiled whenever our antics went overboard.
Which was a lot.
One day, Odie cracked a joke and laughed so hard she spilled her coffee all over the newly washed paint brushes.
Another time, she was doing an old dance move from the 70s called The Hustle, when she tripped and forced three easels to knock over with a loud clang. My giggles turned into full-blown belly laughs, much to the chagrin of my poor friend.
Mr. Harken merely asked us to have more respect for the art supplies, and smiled. A very relieved Odie smiled gratefully and gave me the stink eye. I only laughed harder.
Coolest. Class. Ever.
My other classes were going well too, even Language Arts, which shocked me because the very normal-looking-but-not-normal-at-all Parker Evans was in that class.
Not long after the circus incident, he cornered me in the hall after school, forcing a sullen apology in my face. It wasn't sincere. It wasn't polite. It was as if someone was making him apologize the way a spoiled child with no regrets would. It made me wonder who'd put him up to it, and why.
His handsome face was harsh, angry, and cold. His tone was even more so. Yet I stood there anyway, allowing it because I deserved an apology from him, even one that seemed coerced.
And secretly, I enjoyed watching him squirm.
After that day, he basically left me alone, except for wolfing me down with his eyes. I'd catch him at lunch, watching me from several tables away as I'd eat with Odie. Or I'd be at my locker, rummaging through school paraphernalia only to turn around and find him staring. It was unnerving in a super creepy way. Most people, when
caught staring at someone, will quickly glance in the other direction and act like they didn’t get busted. Not Parker. I’d catch him staring, and he’d take it further by making direct eye contact and holding it. It made me extremely uncomfortable, but I'd pretend like it didn't bother me and ignore him.
What I couldn't ignore, however, was Devon and her gang of monochromatic pretties. There were five of them in their group: Devon, Belle, Cindy, Erica, and Jess.
The lot of them arrived every day to school in the same clothing style- pastel color from head to toe. It was such a bizarre fashion choice for me and Odie, who preferred our “wear whatever’s clean and cover it with black and hoodies,” look. But these girls took extra care each morning to look like Easter egg teenage versions of the Stepford wives. Devon, Belle, and Erica were the blondies of the group while Cindy and Jess were brunettes. They always had immaculate hair styles, never a strand out of place, makeup perfect, attitudes perfect, personality perfect… everything with them was just so perfect. Too perfect.
Their impeccableness put me at great unease. People striving for such perfection is obviously using it to cover up something else, something not so perfect. And I have to admit, I was intrigued.
They tried to make conversation with me several times during each school day.
Devon: “Rosalind, would you be interested in joining our committee to organize the End of Winter Ball?”
Cindy: “Rosalind, I know of an after-school project you'd be perfect for!”
Belle: “Oh my Rosalind, what an interesting flannel shirt you’re wearing! We should go shopping together sometime!” As if she’d be interested in shopping at Goodwill.
Erica: “Rosalind I'd love to have you join the debate team with me in the fall!”
Jess: “Wow you certainly do love those shoes don't you, Rosalind? I don't think I've seen you wear anything else. You should let me do your hair sometime.”
Rest in Peace Roz: The R.I.P. Series Book 1 Page 11
