by Tony C. Skye
Maybe, this is a sign on how I cease to be. A series of short-circuits outside of the norm to say, 'good-bye'. I just don't know. And not knowing is where real fear roams. Hopefully, there is some other explanation. I'm not sure if I am ready to die. I think I like living more, even with this messed up existence in which I have been dealt.
Less than twenty-four hours and I am beginning to feel that moment of blankness coming upon me for the second time. It is disturbing to say the least. I feel a dark cold clamping around my entire being as I sit on this bed within Julia's body. It is suffocating – tightly wound all around me. I’m not too proud to say I am scared. I have no way to combat something in which I am so unfamiliar.
I will have to try to figure this out in the moments in which I do have lucid control. If I am lucky, I may actually help this girl – along with myself – in the process of going all Sherlock Holmes. If I am not lucky, we both may lose our lives. I just don't know what to expect. I don't know anything about these oddities, whatsoever. And this is where real fear roams – when you don't know.
* * *
knock. knock.
Julianna Cora Atwood jerks in response to the sounds bleeding through the oak wood door separating her bedroom from the hall of mazes outside. The teenager is taken back by the large Victorian mansion. She cannot recall this place being so large whenever she visited her grandmother as a child. But then again, she barely remembers anything from so long ago – a lifetime ago.
Nevertheless, the grief stricken girl is glad to be pulled from her strange trance-like mood as of late. Sure, she is super sad. But it doesn't seem completely natural. Then again, it's not like Julia's an expert on the subject either. The last time she really had to deal with this crushing feeling, her mother, Theresa, had been cruelly stolen away from her.
'A victim of ovarian cancer', they said.
A child stripped away from her mother at this age is nearly too much to handle. The brain's ability to process this kind of information has not fully matured. And not only did Julia lose one parent that day, she lost two. Her father would pick up a drink and never put it back down. He was a good father; whenever, his mind wasn't floating in the sauce. But that was a rare occasion.
Julia became her own mother in a weird sense. She learned to clean clothes, do dishes, and cook meals for both her dad and herself.
'A childhood robbed', they'd say.
But they never lifted a single finger to help things change for the better. They were filled with worthless, empty, and useless words.
knock. knock.
“Julia,” Martha's voice softly calls from the other side of the door. “Are you decent, dear?”
Julianna puts on the pink bathrobe her grandmother gave her last night, “Yes, grams.” She numbly watches the L-shape golden handle turn before her grandmother gently pushes open the bedroom door.
Martha Dermott, gingerly, steps inside of the spatial room – a room in which Martha has become quite fond of. It is visually comforting to behold and is capable of bringing peace to a troubled soul. It is the perfect place for her granddaughter to close her eyes at night.
The pale-yellow curtains trimmed with white-lace fringe allow just the right touch of light to enter with the sunrise each morning. The resulting glowing effect from the eastern windows could almost be passed off as an unseen angel floating through the air. Today, however, the morning glow seems to be accenting her granddaughter sitting on the bed in front of her. It is almost as if this unseen angel is trying to wrap its loving hands around her grieving daughter.
The red-oak cabaret against the southern wall pays a great compliment to the gorgeous vanity mirror and chest of drawers next to it. Their high gloss finish serves to help with the feeding of the sun's glowing delight. And the vanity mirror itself faces the end of the queen-size bed with its lavender canopy overhangs. It seems Julia must have decided to tie the canopy to its bedposts. But when the canopy freely hangs, it is fitting for a princess' sleeping chamber. Not creepy like Ebeneezer Scrooge creepy, but heavenly, like royalty heavenly. If Martha could think of only one person to embody the presence of this room, it would always be her granddaughter, Julia.
“You're staring grams,” the teenager displaying a heavy dose of bed-head complains.
Martha smiles and tilts her head slightly to the left, “Yes, I reckon I am. You look a lot like her. Only, you are so much more beautiful.” The older woman points her left hand towards a spot on the bed next to Julia's right side, “Do you mind?”
The mentally exhausted girl briefly glances at the spot. She subtly moves her head to give her grams permission to take her seat. A loving arm tenderly wraps around her and pulls her close. Julianna lays her head on her grandmother's shoulder as Martha's cheek rests upon the top of her lilac scented hair.
Martha sighs, “Such young eyes to behold so much pain.”
The two sit in silence for a while. Julianna, finally, lifts her head to meet her grandmother's patient eyes, “Grams, I'm so lost. I don't even feel like myself anymore.”
Julia's eyes fill with tears and her lips begin trembling. Martha's eyes water to match the pain within her granddaughter's gaze of hopelessness. The concerning woman places her hands on Julia's cheeks in a cupping fashion, “Oh baby, I know it hurts.” Martha's thumbs make a small attempt at wiping away the steady stream of tears racing down her granddaughter's face, “We're going to do this together. You're not alone. I promise.”
The sobbing teen nods halfheartedly, “I - I don't know what to do.”
sniffle.
“I d-didn't mean...”
sniffle.
“Shh...”, Martha quietly interjects, “Everything is going to work itself out. We don't have to figure out how to move planets today. I promise.”
The woman glances over to the dresser and spots a box of tissues, “Excuse your grams for just one second.”
Martha makes her way to the dresser and back again with box in hand. Pulling a few tissues out for herself, she hands the box to the messy girl, “Here's some tear catchers.”
“Thanks.”
sniffle.
The girl pulls out some tissues and blows her nose. She folds them up and shifts them to her left hand.
Martha reclaims the spot on the bed reserved for her by Julia, “Let me see those wonderful green eyes.”
Julianna looks into the comforting ocean of her grandmother's deep blue eyes.
“I love you grams,” Julia gives a pout of sadness instead of the direct reflection of despair she has been sporting lately, “I've missed you.”
Martha lovingly pushes Julia's hair over her right ear, “There she is.” The woman leans in and kisses her granddaughter's forehead. Placing both of her hands on Julianna's arms below the shoulder-line, the red hair woman examines the lovely creature in her view, “You inspire me child.”
Julianna's eyes drift downward as though she may find real truth upon the bed's quilted comforter. Martha's right hand instinctively nudges the teenager's chin upward, “Look at your grams, Julia.”
The girl, reluctantly, looks into her grandmother's eyes. The older woman nods in approval, “That's better.”
Martha continues, “You do inspire me. You have so much strength within you. And you have proven this as a very young lady. Most girls in your same situation would have been committed already. Or they would be life-long drug addicts in the making. Between what you've overcome with your mother and your father, I am deeply impressed with the way you, yourself, have chosen to turn out.”
Julia not ready for the champion speech decides to stop it, “Grams...”
“Don't interrupt your grandmother. I'm on a roll here,” the woman quickly parries. Julianna forces a small grin and decides it might be better to allow her grandmother to get it out of her system.
Martha takes a deeper than normal breath and exhales. She smiles and contemplates whether or not this would be the right time to tell her granddaughter everything. She reasons the timing
is too soon, but that the clock nears its bell.
“Some people are made victims,” Martha continues, “And they stay victims. These people always become destructive to themselves or to others around them. But other people are made victims and they choose not to remain as victims. These people become an inspiration to everyone around them. They are survivors. There is a big difference between the two.”
Martha grins and pats her granddaughter's right leg, “You inspire me because you are a survivor. You proved this as a young child. And you will prove it again. It is in your blood to fight.”
She takes hold of Julia's right hand, “Never give up. Never believe you are inferior to someone else. Never believe it should have been you. And don’t you think for one second that your life is worth less than any other.”
The older woman sighs, “You are of my blood. And if you want to lie down and die, then we're going out to the shed and grabbing a shovel. I'll suck down some martinis while I watch you dig.”
“Grams,” the surprised teen remarks, “That’s horrible.”
“No?”
Julianna grins while moving her head left to right, “No, grams. I'm not going to off myself.”
Martha releases Julia's hand, “Well then, now that that’s out of the way. There's something I need to show you. But not before we get ourselves together and go shopping. Those rags you call clothes won't do for any granddaughter of mine. And besides, you're my excuse to Frank for a new pair of shoes.”
Martha smiles and winks her right eye, “We girls must stick together.” The mother of Julia's mother catches recognition and approval within her granddaughter's eyes.
“Shopping then?”
Julia nods.
Martha hugs her granddaughter and stands. She heads over to the open door and enters into the hallway.
Martha turns around and looks at Julia, “Wonderful. Then let the ladies of this house have a day of shopping. I'll see you downstairs when you're ready.”
Julia watches as her grandmother closes the door. She doesn’t know how she did it, but her grams has her feeling a lot better than she did a few minutes ago.
* * *
Chapter 2
The Library
“You look absolutely divine,” Julianna butchers an accent meant to reflect a southern belle.
Martha turns to examine a diagonal front-side view of the white bonnet hat upon her head. The woman places both of her hands upon her chest while playing along,
“Well, I'll declare. Martha Dermott, you are a spittin' image of southern hospitality.”
Julia laughs. She examines her grandmother within the reflection of the full-length mirror inside of the department store, “Grams, you even sounded retro.”
Martha faints shock, “Retro. Is that what you young-uns are calling us old folks now?”
“Grams, you're not old. You're very beautiful.”
Martha's eyebrows lift slightly, “Careful child. You don't want to be responsible for giving an old woman a big head now.”
Julianna smiles and rolls her eyes, “It looks good on you grams. I like it.”
Martha shifts the hat, “Yes, I do believe this color works.” The woman turns to face the attendant, “I'll take it.” Martha then points to a folded pile of jeans, shorts, blouses, and underwear, “Oh, and she'll take that over there.”
The female attendant smiles and bows her head, “Yes ma'am.” The blond with short cropped hair claps her hands together two times. Three female attendants swoop in and move everything to the cashier's station.
Martha notices the amusement on her granddaughter's face. The woman puts her right arm around Julianna. She speaks in a soft whisper, “I never get tired of that.”
The cashier nods as the two customers approach, “Welcome back, Mrs. Dermott. Would you like this placed onto your account?”
“Yes Devia. Thank you,” Martha answers politely, “That'd be fine.”
“And who's this that you have brought with you today?”
Martha's face lights up with pride, “Devia, meet my granddaughter, Julianna.”
The cashier smiles, “Hello, Julianna. It is very nice to meet you.”
“Thank you. You too,” the girl greets.
Martha makes eye contact with Devia, “I need you to add Julia to my account. If she ever comes in here, take care of her.”
“Absolutely Mrs. Dermott, I'll see to it personally,” the cashier replies.
Martha turns her attention to her granddaughter, “Anytime you need anything, you can come in here. Speak to Devia here. You'll be in great hands with her.”
Julia tries to nod her understanding non-nonchalantly, but is unable to hide the mixture of surprise and joy covering her face.
Martha gently pats her granddaughter on the left shoulder, “One of the many perks of being Julianna, dear.”
“Mrs. Dermott, will you ladies be carrying this? Or would you prefer a delivery?”
Martha looks questioningly at her granddaughter. After a few seconds, Julia catches on.
“Oh. Um…delivery?”, Julianna takes a guess.
Martha laughs, “There's the proof. You are most definitely of my blood, sweetie.”
Julianna looks into her grandmother's blue eyes and smiles. Not from embarrassment. But instead, because she now knows that everything is going to be okay. She is indeed home – home with her grandmother who has welcomed her unconditionally.
* * *
The two ladies spend the early morning hours browsing different shops inside of the mall. For lunch, they stop at the food court. Martha is pleased to see her granddaughter has regained some of her teenage hunger. She watches the sixteen-year-old put away a double cheeseburger, some french fries, and a rather large MT. Dew. The older woman polishes off her Caesar salad and mulls over the idea of whether or not to reveal the complete truth to Julia. She decides the day has been good so far and does not merit any ruining. However, if she approaches everything tactfully, then there should be nothing to ruin. The divided woman contemplates a few minutes longer. She wonders if her granddaughter is even ready for such things.
“Grams, you're staring at me again,” Julia observes.
“Sorry dear. I was just debating where we should go after lunch. Got any ideas?”
“Grams, you've already done way too much for me.”
“Oh that’s nonsense, child. You must learn to allow an old woman her happiness,” Martha counters.
“And you must stop calling yourself old. You’re not old.”
“I feel old,” Martha says while looking at her young granddaughter.
“You’re not.”
“If you say so,” Martha concedes to her granddaughter’s argument.
The teenager slurps the last of her fountain drink. She wipes her hands on a napkin and adds it to the ever growing napkin pile upon the food tray.
Martha teases, “Do you like a little food with your ketchup?”
Embarrassment shines through Julianna's uncomfortable grin.
Martha chooses to release her granddaughter from the apparent anxiety she is exhibiting, “That's nothing child. Just wait until you witness you grams in action with a plate full of barbeque. Frank calls it sexy barbarism.”
Julia delights in her grandmother’s company. She knows that she should be wrapped up with a blanket, some tissues, and a never ending cry. Yet, her grams, seemingly has other plans. Julia silences while searching Martha’s blue eyes for answers. A few moments later, the teen realizes that speech will probably be the better approach.
“Grams, why didn't dad bring me to see you after mom died?”
The older woman dreads the question hanging heavily within the air, but it has been expected. She forces a grin while readying herself. Martha takes a breath and nods as she exhales. The woman speaks with a comforting, motherly-like tone.
“Well dear, everyone grieves in different ways. I suppose; maybe, your father was afraid of losing you. He probably thought that he would give you
to Frank and I if he ever brought you to us. I know your dad loves you with all of his heart.”
The woman let’s out an exaggerated breath.
“My guess is that your dad couldn't place himself into the very situation which would force him to face that kind of decision. The thought of being separated from you was just too much for him.”
Julia spends her forthcoming silence evaluating the wisdom within her grandmother's words. A few minutes passes before she finds her answer. She looks up at her ever patient grandmother.
“I've never looked at it like that before.”
“Sometimes,” Martha replies, “It is easier to see everything when you are not the one standing inside of a closed box without a flashlight. It can become quite scary in that box; especially, when you don’t know of any other option.”
Julia looks down. She swirls the fry in her left hand within the ketchup. She glances back up.
“Grams, I'm glad I'm here. I've missed you.”
“I've missed you, Julia. And we have a lot of catching up to do,” the woman replies. Martha continues, “On that note, are you ready to go?”
Julianna nods, “Ready.”
She stands up, throws her trash away, and follows her grams out of the mall. The mall, Julianna, will now always be partially fond of.
