by Tyra Lynn
“A few days later I was watching TV. The news came on, and the lead story was about a driver being charged with ‘intoxicated man-slaughter.’ They showed a picture of the man. He had been the cause of a huge pile-up on the interstate. There was only one fatality. My mom.”
I took a deep breath, then continued. “I found out a year later that he had made bond the next day, and never showed back up for court. He skipped out. I don’t think he’s ever been caught. He’s out there running around somewhere living it up, and my mom is dead.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, silently. “She was crushed. That big truck she was driving, and she was crushed. There were little cars, and vans, all piled up, but everyone else survived. Her, in that big damn truck...” That’s when the sobs tore loose.
Gabriel was up and around the table, an arm around me, before I even realized he was moving. I hadn’t cried over my mom since her funeral. My dad was so distraught afterwards that I didn’t let myself cry.
I buried my face in Gabriel’s shoulder and let it all out. I missed her so much, and life was so unfair. He put his arms around me, lowered himself to the floor, and pulled me with him, onto his lap. That’s what my father should have done, what I’d wanted him to do, but he couldn’t. I wasn’t mad at him for it; I just wished he could have been stronger then.
I cried for what seemed like forever, until there were no tears left. I wiped at my face and the tears stung my hands. I needed to blow my nose. I was sniffling, trying to regain composure. “You probably think I’m a lunatic, acting like this in front of a total stranger.” I was trying to sound lighter, but I just sounded nasally, because my nose was full of crap.
“I’ll not take offense to that, since you’ve other things on your mind, but I beg to differ.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not a ‘total stranger,’ I’m the rescuer of distressed damsels, and the sender of thoughtful flowers, remember?” He pushed a strand of hair off my wet cheek.
“Yes, now I remember you.”
He looked thoughtfully at my face, the ghost of smile hinting around the corner of his eyes and lips, “If only.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to mine.
He felt so familiar. My dreams must have been more realistic than I thought. I needed to blow my nose, but I didn’t want to stand up yet. I wished that I could smell.
I closed my eyes and leaned back a little, relaxing. I felt like I was supposed to be here, just like this, only not yet, or already. I couldn’t make sense of it. If my nose would stop, I could just sit here forever.
“You’re smiling.” His voice was close to my ear.
“Am I?” I had to be dreaming. I sniffled. Couldn’t be, my nose wouldn’t be stopped up.
“I’ll get you something for your nose.” He said, releasing me slightly.
“No, not yet. I’m still recharging.” What? Why did I say that?
“Yes, Ma’am.” He closed his arms back around me.
“Why does it feel like I know you, like from somewhere else?” I asked. I was thinking it, but wasn’t sure I’d asked until he answered.
“Hmm. Some religions believe in reincarnation.” He offered.
“Maybe something like that, but not exactly. Is it just me?”
“No, not at all.”
“What do you mean?” I opened my eyes and looked into his deep blue ones. They were beautiful.
“Do you believe in fate?” It sounded like his voice echoed.
I wondered if I’d heard right. “Ask that again.”
“Do you believe in fate?”
I must be losing my mind. “I don’t know. Yes, and no, I guess. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s not just you.” His eyes were probing. “I remember you, every day.”
“You mean you think of me?”
“Yes.” The room was humming. “It’s why I’m here. Why I will always be here.”
My body felt electrified. I could imagine lightning dancing on my skin. My breathing was heavy and I felt a little dizzy. I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, it was too stopped up.
“No. Not now.” He said, and I had no idea what he meant.
Gabriel scooted me off his lap and got to his feet, reaching down for my hand. I let him pull me to my feet. “I can’t breathe.” I said.
He looked around the room, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and shoved them toward me. I ripped one off and looked at him.
“I know, turn around. I’ll still be able to hear you, you know.”
How did he know I was going to say that? I blew and honked and cleared my nose. I took a few sniffs. I could smell him, in a good way, and I was glad.
“I need to get home before my father calls wondering where I’ve gotten off to.” He said. “I went for a jog, and I should have already returned by now.”
“What did you mean by ‘no, not now’?” And why was he in such a hurry to leave now?
“I don’t know.” He turned his back.
“You didn’t tell me about your mother.” I was trying to get him to stay, just a little longer. “I told you all about mine. Slobbered on your shoulder, even.”
He took a deep breath and turned back around, a look of concern in his eyes. He glanced around the room as if he were making sure we were alone. It was strange.
“I could tell you tomorrow evening, after work, if you’d like.” He looked like he was bracing himself for something. He was stiff, and holding his breath.
“I, um, have plans all day.”
His breath rushed out and his shoulders slumped slightly. “I understand. Maybe another time, then.”
“Sunday!” I shouted. God, I sounded desperate or something. “I mean, Sunday is good. The store is closed. I start school Monday so I’ll be pretty busy next week.” Way to sound like a kid. “Senior year.”
“Sunday? Sunday would be perfect. May I have your phone number? I will call you.”
“Umm, don’t laugh.” I pulled out my phone. “I don’t even know my own number.” I started looking at my phone, trying to figure out where to find it. It had to be in there somewhere.
“Here” He said, holding out his hand.
I gave him my phone. He dialed a number, and his pocket rang. He hung up, did something on my phone, and handed it back. “Now you have my number. I programmed it in.”
He pulled out his own, and I assumed he was saving my number. “There. Speed dial number one.” His eyes twinkled when he smiled a real smile. “I need to go.”
“Okay. You’ll call me Sunday?”
“Promise.”
“Thank you. For everything.” I looked down at my feet.
He closed the distance between us, took my hand, and kissed the back of it, sending a chill up my arm. The air crackled. “Sunday.” He whispered, then turned, and was out the door.
If there were any way to get there without killing myself, I would have run to a front window and watched him go. I paced in the kitchen a few seconds, debating whether I should just step out on the porch and pretend I was going to the swing. Too obvious. I squeezed my hands together; I had forgotten they hurt until then.
I lurched for the kitchen door, jerked it open, and rushed out onto the porch. I didn’t see him anywhere, so I ran to the end of my driveway. I just wanted to see him one more time. Just one. I looked left and right, as far as I could see, and the sidewalks were empty.
CHAPTER XX
Time discovers truth.
—Seneca
I trudged up the stairs with no destination in mind. I was thinking about Gabriel, and thinking about my mom. It had felt good to cry, to let some of the pain out. I had pushed it so far down for so long.
I headed for the library. The lamp was still on and the roll top was left open. I started to close it when I caught sight of the cigar box, pushed way back under the shelves. Mom’s old pictures.
I always thought it was odd that she kept them in that cigar box. She told me once that Grandpa had given it to her, b
ut Grandpa didn’t smoke. I never thought about it until now.
I slid the box out and sat down in the swivel chair. I opened the lid and lifted out the stack of pictures. The oldest ones were on the top, black and white and slightly fuzzy. I thumbed through the faces of unknown relatives and then lifted them out of the way.
Beneath those were pictures from my mom’s early childhood, faded and off-colored. Her with a cake on her third birthday. Her playing on an old metal slide, hair flying back. Her in a sandbox with a spoon.
One by one, I thumbed through. She looked so much like me, or rather, I looked so much like her, we could have been twins. Picture after picture of only her, all very young. Where were my Grandparents?
There was a photo album downstairs full of photos of her and my grandparents. None of them showed her as young as she was in these, though. I found one of her seated at a piano, an old pump organ. I flipped the picture over. On the back, in beautiful handwriting, were the words: Analise, Age 2
Strange. I was certain that was my mom. I flipped over several other pictures. They had no names on the back, but every one of them had, in tiny letters on the bottom right, ‘A.M.W.’ A for Analise?
I shoved all the pictures back in the box, closed it, and placed it back on the shelf. I slammed the roll-top and ran downstairs. In the formal living room, I tried to gauge how far I had to go to get to the end table that held the photo album I wanted.
There was so much stupid stuff in the way. If I moved a thing, Dad would know, but for today I didn’t care. I started un-stacking boxes and junk, moving them to the side and working forward. It seemed to take forever, but at last I could see the table.
Once I cleared a few more things out of the way, I could reach the drawer. I slid it open and pulled out the photo album. I wanted to open it right then, but I was surrounded by a mountain of junk that needed to be put back, if possible.
It took twice as long to put everything back, and I knew it didn’t look the same. If Dad asked, I’d just tell him the truth. I didn’t want to hurt him, but maybe he needed to know his daughter couldn’t even see pictures of her mother without literally moving mountains.
I didn’t make it fancy, I just piled stuff back. I shoved the last box on top, grabbed the album, and made a run for my room. I was so filthy, and I wanted to get the dust off, but that would have to wait.
I placed the photo album on the area rug in front of my bed and flipped it open. The first page had pictures of Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa on Mom’s fifth birthday. I flipped rapidly through all the pages. My Grandparents were in most of them.
I turned back to the first page, lifted the protective film, and removed the photo. The handwriting was entirely different from the younger photos. On the back it said,
‘Ana—Age 5.’
I removed photo after photo. Always the name ‘Ana,’ never Eliana. All of them in the same handwriting. Analise, Eliana—both Ana. What was my mom’s real name? Would Mom and Dad lie to me? My heart started pounding, and so did my head.
I grabbed my phone and stared at it. Was I looking for answers, or just making an excuse? His dad was a History professor, after all. They knew how to do research. It was logical. I didn’t know what else to do, and I couldn’t ask my dad.
I hit the redial button.
One ring and, “Hello?” Even his voice was beautiful.
“Hi, Gabriel, it’s Jessie.” My voice was mousy and weak.
“Jessie! I am so happy to hear from you!”
“I…” What was I going to say without sounding ridiculous? “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I thought maybe you could help me with something.”
“Anything, just ask.” His voice sounded sincere, maybe even concerned.
I explained everything the best I could. Even as I said it all, I knew how crazy I sounded. It’s not as if my mom was some super-spy, or was in witness-protection or something. But still, something was weird, I could feel it. There was some secret, and I wanted to know what it was.
I gave him all the information I had on my mom; birthday, where she said she was born, eye color, social security number, drivers license number, everything I could think of. I also gave him my Grandparents names and address. Dad would have been mad about that, but I swore Gabriel to secrecy. Though I couldn’t say why, I believed completely that I could trust him.
He promised to call if his dad found anything, and asked me to call if I thought of anything else important. I hung up the phone wondering what in the world I had just done. Gabriel didn’t even act surprised, but he sounded—it just now struck me as odd—like he had learned something very important.
Why was I always dragging people into things? My head felt so muddled. My dreams and memories were getting mixed up, and I wasn’t sure who I had told what, and why. I wasn’t always dragging people into things, was I? No. Nope. The opposite—I kept people out.
With my brain still feeling jumbled, I couldn’t stand just sitting around. My skin wanted to fly off. I decided cleaning my hands again was a good idea, and maybe putting on some lotion or something. The little red spots were barely visible now, but I had been moving nasty boxes and stuff, and some were noticeable because they had dirt in them. Another bath, that would make me feel better.
I was starting all over again. Bath, hair, makeup, clean clothes. I hated repeating things. It was especially annoying today for some reason. My mood was foul and suddenly everything was irritating.
Once I had cleaned up, I thought maybe taking a leisurely stroll to the square would be helpful. Lunch with Steve would be good for me right now. Maybe Dad would even let him leave a little early.
Getting out of the house had a positive effect right away. Feeling the breeze against my face helped clear my head a little, and the warmth of the sun felt good on my shoulders. I was distracted and still a little muddle-brained, but I knew where I was going, and nutty as it sounded, it felt like I at least had a goal.
I passed house after house, barely noticing them. A few people waved and I instinctively waved back, but kept my pace. I wasn’t up for conversation with anyone. Damaged. That’s how I felt. Why would they ever lie to me? Had they lied to me?
One plus one is two. Two plus two is four. Three plus three is six. I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands. Four score and seven years ago. A, B, C, D, E, F, G. Random thoughts to keep from thinking. Random thoughts, all the way to the square.
It was close enough to noon that I might get lucky. If they weren’t busy, and Dad was in a good mood, I might be able to steal Steve now. I crossed the two intersections without any mishaps and went around to the back. I peeked my head in the door, and didn’t see anybody in the back room.
I slipped quietly inside, shutting the door carefully behind me. I crept across the floor to the door to the front and listened. I could hear both Dad and Steve talking to someone. They were asking about wood cleaners. I recognized the voice. Mr. Patel, the mirror man.
The conversation was boring, but at least it gave me something to concentrate on, and hearing Steve talk made me feel better. I tried to concentrate on every word he said, on the sound of his voice. He laughed at something, and it was such a nice laugh.
I don’t know how long I listened, but I eventually heard the register, then the bell on the front door. Steve said, “I’ll be right back. Need to go to the little room.”
My dad laughed and said, “Don’t get lost.”
I pressed myself against the wall so the door wouldn’t hit me, and listened as the footsteps approached. I held my breath and waited.
The door swung open, and Steve strode purposefully through and toward the bathroom. The door closed slowly enough he didn’t have time to catch me out of the corner of his eye in his haste. I watched him turn down beside the rows of shelves and thought how cute he looked today. He was dressed up a little more than usual for work, though he always looked nice. I liked the thought that it was prob
ably for me.
I just stood there against the wall and waited. If my dad came in now, I had no idea what I was going to say. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard the bell on the front door. Yes! Now I knew where the old cliché had come from. I smiled.
It wasn’t long before I heard the bathroom door open and Steve's returning footsteps. He came around the corner, lost in thought, and then noticed me standing against the wall. A huge smile broke out across his face and I held a finger up to my lips before he could say anything.
He crossed the room in five long steps, put his arms around me, and kissed me. “You surprised me.” He whispered.
“That was my intention.” I whispered back.
He stepped back, holding me at arms' length. “You look beautiful.” His green eyes were so bright.
I smiled. “So do you.”
He pulled me back close and leaned down to my ear. “I missed seeing you last night.”
“Me too.” I said.
We just stood there a few moments, until we heard the front door again. My dad’s voice called from the front, “You lost?” Then he chuckled.
Steve laughed. “Actually, I’m found.” He replied, stepping back and taking my hand.
We walked through the door to the front. My dad looked surprised for a second, and then smiled at me. “Hi sweetheart, I suppose you came to steal my help for lunch?”
“I did.” I glanced at Steve and back at my Dad.
“Go on, then. Half an hour, please. I forgot I had an appraisal to do today, but it can wait a little longer.”
I gave my dad a quick hug. “I’ll have him back in no time. You won’t even have time to miss him.” I promised.
I tugged on Steve's hand, moving toward the front door. I could hold hands in front of my dad, but it still felt just a little weird. I was going to have to get used to it, I guess, if we kept going out.
As we exited the door, Steve pulled his hand loose and put his arm around me. “This okay?” He asked.
I put my arm around him and hooked my thumb in his belt loop. “It’s fine by me.”
