He had rewarded her by turning bright crimson right before the directness of her gaze and the confidence in her tone.
From then on, they had been together every spare moment, walking home after his practices, sitting on the small retaining wall, separating her front yard from the sidewalk. They had talked and talked about every topic imaginable, laughing and carrying on over one subject after another, finding nonchalant ways to touch each other and move closer. They talked about their dreams and their hopes for the lives they were just beginning to plan. They spoke of college and getting jobs, of getting their State I.D.’s and the Driver’s Licenses that would soon follow. They spent long afternoons on that retaining wall in front of her house, sometimes until the sun went down, when Ricardo would be forced to jog home in the dark.
Sometimes her mother would ask him to dinner. Ricardo would call home to see if that was “okay” with his parents. Other times, her father would ask him, with fake kindness, if he needed a ride home, of which Ricardo would accept, but only about half the time. To her, it was like he was keeping a tally in his head.
This had gone on for another two weeks. Until one late afternoon, the harsh Arizona sun unrelenting upon the landscape, she had walked him to the corner of her block.
He had grabbed a hold of both of her hands, his eyes looking down on her with deep affection.
She couldn’t resist. She had tightened her grip on his hands, stood on her tiptoes, and moved toward him.
He didn’t misinterpret her thoughts or become awkward or ruin the moment in any way. He merely bent down and kissed her for a long time. Not once, through the entire four-second contact, did he become forceful or pry her lips apart with an over eager tongue.
Instead, he tasted her lips, savoring the moment with such tenderness. She felt her heart skip two beats. When they pulled away, she could barely contain her excitement. He had said goodbye, hugged her quickly, but fiercely, and left.
Behind his retreating form, she had jumped in the air and literally sprinted back to her house.
She had come home to the rest of family celebrating and jumping around as she had moments ago. Her heart had abruptly filled with dread. Had they seen what happened - her kissing a boy - and were making fun of her?
A moment later her thought proved unfounded.
She approached her family as they jumped around in a big circle, hugging and yelling. She was able to discern something else was going on, but she couldn’t shake the confusion she felt at seeing their uncanny out-pouring of joy.
When her brother David spied her from the corner of his vision, he broke free and hooted and hollered. “We’re going to ‘Tinsel Town’, Baby!”
What?!? her mind raced.
“We’re going to ‘La-La Land’, Ana!” her brother continued when she didn’t respond. “The big city, Hollywood, the bright lights, the ocean, and don’t forget all those sexy, fine California gurls!!! Oh my god, I’m gonna be in heaven!!!”
She had stood there dumbfounded, dazed as he went on, her ears unable to discern sound, wondering how her world could go from being so right, to being so fucking rotten in a matter of minutes.
“Looks like a storm’s down the road a piece,” announced her father from the front seat of the Suburban, breaking Marianna’s train of thought.
“Yeah, it sure does look like it,” replied her mother. “Good thing your signing bonus allowed us to ready the car for such an occurrence.” She watched her tiny mother reach over to squeeze her father’s diminutive shoulder.
She shuddered. Ah jeez, please don’t start making out.
Her eyes inadvertently found the clouds again. Her father had been correct. They did appear like storm clouds. Well, she considered, except for the one in front of the others.
It was closer to their position as they continued to barrel down I-40. That one was shaped funny too, like a head – a human head to be exact.
Great, now I’m seeing decapitated skulls floating in the air.
She turned up her MP3 player as another Lady Gaga anthem to gays began to scream in her ear.
The news had been difficult for Ricardo to take as well. As it turned out, they’d had their first argument over the situation - a situation neither of them could change. He had been crass and mean, while she’d been defensive and hurt by his inability to see how much this pained her. She had to say good-bye to him and, with that, watch some her of innermost hopes simply “pop” out of existence, like a soap bubble in a harsh wind.
Maybe he had sensed some of the feelings she had growing inside of her, those deep-seeded emotions for him. Maybe he too got a glimpse of their future together and became so disappointed by her inevitable departure, he couldn’t control himself. Maybe he didn’t know how to control such intense emotion and he allowed his sorrow to turned to anger.
She would never know though. After they’d made up, a short while later and talked through the problem as grown-up as they could manage. She could sense something fundamental had changed between them. It was something they couldn’t recover or renew. The simplicity and originality of their time together had altered at its’ most basic level and could no longer represent what it had been before news of her leaving had changed it. It was like losing their innocence. There would be no future now. There would be nothing long-term between them. They were too young and powerless to do much else other than flow with the currents of their lives and make the best of the short time they had left together.
I miss you, Ricardo. I wish I’d had the time to tell you that I loved you.
The strange cloud became more distinct, detail coming forth.
Now, here she was twenty days later, on the I-40, on her way to Los Angeles of all places, having left the only hope she had of finding love - true love. It was all behind her now. Everything she’d wanted in life had evaporated into thin air.
She pulled her gaze from the landscape. Not caring to notice it had begun to change as the elevation of the high plain increased the closer they came to the outskirts of Flagstaff.
She blinked away tears, forcing herself not to give into her emotions and breakdown. No! She wasn’t supposed to be this sad. She wasn’t going to cry!
The thought had just crossed her mind when her eyes caught a hold of the huge geological formation of San Francisco Peaks, the dead volcanoes of a bygone age. She watched as the clouds played about their slopes, stretching well over twelve thousand feet into the atmosphere.
Ahead, the sun was setting behind the mountains, their cumuli-nimbus playmates moving about them. The glare of the sun magnified for a second. This iridescence grew in intensity with blinding speed, until it became a flare of luminance behind the gossamer billow of the clouds.
Then, she saw it.
It was highlighted within the wispy structures in the air before her, towering, incredibly immense. It was the cloud she had noticed before. It had a face now, in the clouds, eyes glowing malevolently, from miles away, across the great distance. It stared at her with such unadulterated hatred. She gasped a loud, her hand coming to her mouth.
I see you, you little bitch. You won’t escape the likes of me, not ever.
Lady Gaga was long forgotten.
There’d been a voice IN HER HEAD!
Ricardo was a distant thought.
It took all of her will to stop from yelping with fright.
In the front seat, her mother turned around to see what was wrong with her.
Her father looked at her through the rear view mirror, concern on his face.
She ignored them. Because, the moment the sun’s glare vanished, it’s light no longer capable of illuminating the clouds, the vicious, leering face seemed to smile. It was a slow, knowing smile.
It was gazing straight at her!
I’m going to kill you, you worthless human!
Oh god!
A blink of an eye passed. It was gone.
An overwhelming sense of dread befell her, so deep, so thorough, she could feel it in her b
ones.
Something terrible is going to happen… in Los Angeles…
Whatever she did to try and escape the thought, it was fruitless. She knew now. He had spoken to her in her mind. No matter how fantastic it may sound, she knew it for truth. There was no mistake. Not now. Not ever.
He was coming.
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
Part One:
Pieces in Play
…For, Frosty the snowman had to hurry on his way, but he waved goodbye saying, "Don't you cry, I'll be back again someday."
Thumpetty thump thump, Thumpety thump thump, Look at Frosty go…
~Steve "Jack" Rollins
Winter either bites with its teeth or lashes with its tail.
~Proverb
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
~ 1 ~
Winter’s Friend
Thursday, November 18th, 8:09am…
Mikalah sat in her 3rd grade class, waiting for the first lesson of the day to begin, twirling her shoulder-length, dark brown hair with her left index finger.
At eight years old, Mikalah had long ago grown out of the pudgy, stubby - if not square-ish body type – she’d at a much younger age. Her form had lengthened and thinned, revealing a slender girl of medium height for her age. Her once wild hair had straightened and shone darkly - even in sunlight. As the years passed, it remained as thick and course as it had when she was a baby. Because of this, her hair wasn’t easily styled, since no amount of curling or crimping could bend or shape it. It remained absolutely straight, hanging down from the crown of her head in all directions. Despite this, her hair held its’ own beauty. It shone brightly, reflective, a soft vibrancy, even the harsh fluorescent lights of her classroom.
She had the typical Hispanic complexion – dark. Growing up in Los Angeles, with its’ long summers and short winters, had deepened its’ the tone to a deep russet. The sort many an actor would spend hours in the salon attempting to duplicate, but couldn’t’ quite achieve. This was a thing too natural to manufacture. Any cosmetic attempt at its duplication would come out looking overly tanned, too dry and tight, as if drained of all moisture. Their skin wouldn’t retain the succulent depths of her native skin.
She was of average build with strong legs and arms. Her eyes were dark brown, matching the color and sheen of her hair. Her gaze was always alight with intelligence and wit. She wore the usual attire required by her school - white polo shirt and navy blue pants held up by a Little Mermaid belt with matching shoes upon her feet.
She was like so many other eight-year-old women across the country, in any given city - playful, outgoing, occasionally sarcastic with a keen ear for humor and always ready with a gigantic peel of laughter.
Inwardly, Mikalah was different in her own way. She was an individual with her own idiosyncrasies and preferences. She liked cuddling and hugging whatever “grown-up” was around. More often than not, she preferred the “warm spot” on the couch next to her mom or dad just so she could feel secure. She liked feeling snuggly.
Juxtaposed against this basic level of intimacy, she could turn towering confidence one moment into a calculated look of shyness, even weakness, as she became that helpless little girl so many would underestimate. It was at these times, she was actually paying complete attention to the world around her, when no one was looking at her. She would watch everyone else intently. It was in these times, she learned, understood what was transpiring around her. She masked comprehension skillfully against meek body language and a shy sort of inquisitiveness. It was her way of extracting information on multiple levels in the most innocuous manner. She became subtle and circumspect, but under-lined it with downright forward, if not aggressive, intent.
In full, she was a complex little girl, whose emotions ran very deep – feelings and convictions that attempts at dissuasion often proved fruitless. She could be doggedly determined when the need arose.
So, there she sat, idly playing with her hair with one hand, twirling her Tinkerbelle pencil in the other, it’s writing end floating crazily over the blank sheet of paper. Before her, with only her name and date written in the upper right hand corner of the sheet - per Mrs. Smith’s format - she waited.
Silently, she wondered why her teacher, hadn’t begun the lesson already. By this time yesterday, with the directions already given, the students had been off writing in their respective journals, describing their own versions of the up-coming Holidays and the onset of yet another Southern California winter.
Today, though, things were different.
The class wasn’t doing anything at that moment, but fidgeting about, as would any bunch of third graders would after having to wait patiently for an extended period.
Instead of holding her customary chalk, Mrs. Smith was casually leaning against her desk at the front of the classroom. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, arms crossed below her ample bosom, over her wide mid-section, smiling at the ever-stretching silence permeating throughout the classroom.
Mikalah glanced two rows across from where she was seated, gazing toward where her sister, Elena, who was staring right back at her, with eyebrows raised in question. Like with most close sisters, a silent message passed between the two girls. What is going on? Why was this taking so long? Mikalah could only shrug, which Elena returned with a twist to the left corner of her mouth. It was her habit. Mikalah knew it to mean she didn’t like having to wait for things to get started.
Elena never liked to wait for anything. She was always SO impatient!
Like Mikalah, Elena Soledad Herrera was dressed per the school’s dress code, though she wore a white blouse with a pleated pair of mini-skirt shorts and long, white tights to keep her legs warm from the growing cold of the season. On her feet, she wore her favorite shoes, a glittering pair of Sketcher tennies that sparkled with a myriad of flashing lights every time she took a step. Unlike her sister, Elena wasn’t the transcending Hispanic stereotype that was Mikalah.
Rather, she conveyed more of an Iberian complexion and cast to her visage. It was reticent of the otherwise recessive genes simmering here and there through her family’s tree. She had light brown hair with thick, looping curls, forming without any aide, but looked as though they’d been sculpted by a professional team in a world-class salon. Her skin was light, but not opaque. It would tend to brown versus burn, if she were playing in the sun overlong. At times, in high summer, especially if she’d been camping for a spell, she could develop a golden hue. Combined it with the lightening of her hair by the sun, would give her a truly exotic look.
She was of a thinner, more delicate bone structure than that of her sister. She weighed a little less as well, though Elena stood an inch and a half taller. Her fingers were longer, while her palms were smaller than Mikalah’s. Her limbs were longer and leaner of muscle. While Mikalah was power when she ran, bowling forth like a thoroughbred horse. Elena was fluid, lithe-like, much like her father had been many years ago, when he’d run competitively in college. This was before his injury and the subsequent weight that had followed.
They were definitely not peas-in-a-pod. They couldn’t have looked any more different and still be recognized as sisters.
With only eleven months separated the sisters in age, it was the time of the year they’d been born that saw them placed in the same grade together. Elena, being born in mid-December, had been forced to wait a year before she could start Kindergarten. Thus, she and Mikalah had begun their school careers together.
Mikalah turned from her sister, brushing the same lock of hair she’d been twiddling about her finger behind her ear and smiled.
Elena’s predictability always made her chuckle. Her sister was like clockwork, constantly striving to be the best at any task. She was a determined, very organized young mind that always surged ahead of others (or tried to tell everybody what to do, as Mikalah saw it). Sometimes, Elena could be extremely impatient with anyone who couldn’t keep up with her ever-moving mind. Sometimes, Mikalah
liked to play dumb just to see what sort of reaction she could rouse out of her sister. Sometimes it was a smirk and a snide remark, sometimes an exasperated explosion of air would escape her throat. She would walk away wanting nothing to do with Mikalah. That was always the best and often made Mikalah laugh aloud. Typically, this made Elena even madder.
Elena will always be Elena, thought Mikalah as she continued to glance around the class waiting for something, anything, to happen.
A quick succession of knocks at the door nearest the front of the classroom brought every child’s head up and a few gasps of surprise from her classmates. Mrs. Smith let out a quiet, “Okay now”, and made her way to the door. With her left hand, she opened the door and took a step to the side and back, leaving the way clear for the newcomers.
Mikalah snatched a quick glance at her sister again, but Elena wasn’t heeding her now. Her sister’s eyes were glued to happenings at the front of the class.
“Class, may I have your attention, please?”
A moot request, thought Mikalah. Everyone was already riveted.
“We have a new student joining us today,” went on Mrs. Smith, gesturing to the figures standing at the threshold of the room.
As a unit, the class turned to gaze at a small, pale-skinned girl. She stepped somewhat shyly in front of the gangly form of Mr. Henderson, the school principal. She wore a white, knee-length dress. Around her waist was a matching blue ribbon. She was dressed more formally than the girls and boys of Yorkdale Elementary School were used to seeing. Her attire wasn’t in accordance with the school’s dress code, since all dresses had to be dark or navy blue, which was clearly stated in the many memos mailed to parents over the summer vacation months.
The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves Page 2
