Salem's Sight

by Eden Elgabri

  You know those defining moments? This was one of them. When I looked at the sketch I saw myself as Robby saw me and as my mother saw me, and for the first time in my life I felt - beautiful.

  Not spoiled little daddy’s girl pretty or having a good hair day attractive, but nice person on the inside beautiful emanating out. There was something about the sketch that showed character and I wondered if I could live up to their image of me.

  ****

  Finding a similar pattern to the one in the painting was almost too simple. It seems bridesmaid’s dresses haven’t changed that much over the years. Or at least the classic ones haven’t. As my mother predicted, the material was another matter.

  Luckily, it was as important to my mom to get it accurate as it was to me. Which meant we tried fabric shop after fabric shop, and finally traveled to an exclusive place not far from Boston.

  We ended up making a day of it and did a little shopping in Fanuel Hall. By the time we made the trek home our energy levels were low, but we were both so excited to get the dress made that we went ahead anyway.

  Midnight approached and I was so anxious I could barely stand it. I watched on as my mother slowly, patiently created a masterpiece.

  I didn’t want to rush her or bug her so that she’d end up making a mistake, but it was making me crazy just standing there. Finally, when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer, she finished the dress.

  She held it up and we were both barely breathing. Perfect. It was a perfect match. “Try it on.” She shoved the dress at me and fled. “I’m going to get the camera. I want a picture of you in the dress standing next to the painting.”

  “Good idea.” I gingerly draped the dress over the back of the chair and stripped down to my underwear right there in the family room.

  No alterations of any kind would need to be made. It even felt perfect on. I grabbed my white scrunchy and pulled my hair high on top of my head. I’d have to take some time with it for the portrait, but for now at least it was up and out of the way.

  My mother stopped in her tracks in the doorway. “Wow.” Her hand shot up to her chest and she seemed at a loss for words.

  “I need a mirror.” I headed for my bedroom in close to a run. When I finally saw my reflection, the woman in the painting came to life.

  My grandmother might as well have been standing there as I was. The camera flash brought me back to reality.

  “Come back downstairs so I can get a picture in front of the painting. You look - amazing.”

  For once I didn’t make a face or get aggravated because she was complimenting me. Instead, I just followed her down the stairs, took my place next to the painting, and then let her fire at will.

  After about a zillion pictures, I reluctantly eased off the dress and thanked my mother with the tightest hug since the acquisition of Skyler.

  It felt good for us to be on the same side again. Exhaustion enveloped me and I was certain I’d be dead to the world as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  ****

  I bristled instinctively. Darkness surrounded me. I tried to adjust my eyes, focus so the uncomfortable sensation would ease. An icy cold encapsulated my body and the heaviness pulled me down. Was I outside? Was I dreaming? What was going on? Think, damn it, think. It didn’t matter if it was real or not. Something was wrong.

  The edginess became stronger and I knew I couldn’t face this alone. I needed my mother. A fog seemed to clear and I searched the house room by room. Where was she? Why couldn’t I find her?

  I heard myself calling her name as if from a distance, first questioning, then a little louder in a panic.

  Materializing like some sort of hologram, she turned and looked startled. While the seconds slowly ticked away, that haunting expression seemed frozen in time, squishing the life out of my heart. Then I heard the gun as I knew I would. Pop, pop, pop. Three shots just like before, only now I could see what was happening.

  When the third shot fired, my mom’s body jerked backward as if she had been lifted off the floor. Then she fell into the abyss, the eternal darkness. I lunged for her, desperately trying to reach her, but her image slipped away before my anguished cry ended.

  CHAPTER twelvE

  I jumped up in my bed unable to catch my breath. Just a dream. Nothing to be afraid of. But it wasn’t and I knew it.

  It would happen.

  My mother would be shot.

  I saw it.

  I’d been building a wall between my mother and myself since my father died. It hadn’t been intentional. It just happened. And now I was going to lose her too. Only now there would be more guilt because we didn’t simply have a quarrel. I pushed her away.

  All the time that we should have been getting closer together, comforting each other after the accident, I’d been pushing her away instead.

  I began to sob uncontrollably stuffing my face in my pillow so she wouldn’t hear. I was practically suffocating to keep the sound down.

  If she heard me she’d be in the room in a flash to find out what was wrong. So I’d have to be quiet. I couldn’t let her find out. Not yet anyway. Not until I knew more. Not until I knew what I could do about it. And besides, how could I describe what I saw? I mean, really, how do you tell your mom you just watched her die?

  I curled up in the fetal position and smothered my anguish. While I shed muffled tears my mind focused on the beyond and I beckoned to the one person who might be able to give me some insight.

  “Grandma, please,” I begged. “Help me. There has to be a way to help. Please, help me.”

  “Stop it.” The voice was loud and clear. It didn’t matter if no one else could hear it. I could. I could hear it as well as if she were physically there. I sat up and looked around my empty room.

  It wasn’t an admonishment, but a plea. She wasn’t mad at me, she was as afraid as I was, and was seeking my help. “Stop it. You can stop it, Salem.”

  Awake. I pinched myself to make certain. Yup, it was Grandma all right. But what could I do? Could it be possible? Could I somehow change what was supposed to happen? How much was free will as opposed to destiny?

  I had to find out. I would focus, research, study, and do anything that I had to so that I could find the answers I needed.

  “How?” I whispered truly expecting a response this time. Surely she’d know what to do and would answer. Skyler broke the silence with a chortle then looked away from the ceiling.

  Looks like Grandma had left the building.

  ****

  Now I’m not the sort of girl who wakes up looking perfect. Not even on my best day. And well, after sleeping for all of about two minutes you could say it wasn’t even close to my best day. That was apparent the second Mom got a good look at me.

  Have you ever had a truly hideous apparel moment? Like your white jeans got stained because your teacher didn’t believe you really had to go to the lav, then got all offended when you mentioned your period. Or worse, you sat in chocolate and it looked like you crapped yourself. At moments like that, even your best friends would say ‘eww’.

  That was the way my mother looked at me when she walked into the room.

  “Good Lord, Salem, you look like hell. Good thing Robby isn’t painting you today.”

  And she was right. I bore no resemblance to my grandmother at the moment. In fact, my sallow complexion and sunken eyes made me look more like a relative of Frankenstein. But still, it wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. “Thanks, Mom. It’s nice to know you think I’m attractive,” I said with the usual sarcasm.

  My mother made a face at me. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I think you’re beautiful - normally.” She smiled at her own bit of sarcasm. “Didn’t you get any sleep last night? The bags under your eyes…” She stopped mid-sentence the speculation clear on her face.

  I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want to tell anyone. If I could keep it to myself maybe it would go away.
r />   Yeah, right. That’d happen.

  She poured a mug of coffee quietly and handed it to me. “You’ll definitely need this.” Well if not complimentary at least she was perceptive.

  I took the mug from her and sat down at the kitchen table with my head hung low, dipping my chin occasionally so my lips could steal a sip. That’s how bad it was. I didn’t even have the energy to lift the mug to my mouth. My head continued to hang like the baby dolls with the plastic heads and the cloth necks.

  But I didn’t need to lift my head to know she was staring. I’d have to say something. If I didn’t she’d know something was up and would start digging. And she’d never stop until she hit oil.

  I said the only thing I could think of. “Up late last night studying for a test. Then must’ve been overtired ‘cause I couldn’t sleep.” I put my head down on the table and shut my eyes. As long as I didn’t look directly at her I might be able to pull it off.

  I could feel her eyes like lasers boring a hole through the top of my head. “You didn’t say anything about a test last night when I was working on the dress.”

  Oh, good. We were about to enter the questioning phase. I grimaced. This would be tricky. There were times when I was sure Mom should be in charge of the interrogation room for the police department.

  “Sort of forgot about it because of the dress … checked my backpack before I went to bed and there it was in my agenda, study for science. Why do teachers give tests on Mondays? It’s a stupid day to have a test. Everyone forgets during the weekend.” There was nothing like a tirade to knock someone off track.

  It worked. “I thought you hated it when teachers gave tests on Friday? Then you’d end up staying up late every Thursday studying for a bunch of tests.”

  “You got me there. I pretty much hate tests on any day, but the worst are Monday and Friday. And for the reason we just discussed.” I mumbled the end of that sentence due to a wide open-mouthed yawn.

  Mom put a bowl in front of me and I reached for one of the boxes of cereal in the center of the table.

  But of course, it couldn’t be that easy. “And it’s going to be that difficult of a test that you had to study half the night?”

  “It was past my bedtime when I took off the dress,” I mumbled. “It’s not like me to blow off a test. You know that. I just forgot and by the time I remembered…”

  “You’re right, Salem. It’s not like you. Not like you at all.” There was something in the way she said it that made me feel I wasn’t off the hook yet.

  I could feel her eyes on me so I poured some milk in the bowl and started shoveling.

  “How do you eat that chocolate cereal?” she asked. And it wasn’t the first time she asked it. Mom and I had completely different tastes when it came to cereal. She liked things that were healthy and she always put some kind of fresh fruit in it. I was like my dad. Nothing like a great big sugar high with a sweet crunchy taste.

  To be honest though, since I was focusing on avoiding the truth, the cereal was tasteless. I shrugged. “You know me and Coco Puffs.”

  “I sure do.”

  Oh not good, not good. Her tone shouted danger so I kept my eyes lowered and my spoon going.

  “So why are you eating my Raisin Bran?”

  I swallowed hard and ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. How the hell could I have missed that taste? My eyes opened wide first glancing at the bowl and then to the box closest to me. She was right; in my nervousness I reached for the wrong box and was placidly eating a cereal I had always proclaimed to hate.

  Man, I was really screwed.

  “What’s up, Salem?” she asked. I could feel her eyes locked on mine like a target. Ten, nine, eight,…

  “Nothing, really.” I wriggled in my seat like a fish against a net. Captured. No daring escape possible.

  “No lies. Did you have a bad dream?”

  I dropped the spoon down in the bowl with a plunk and some of the milk flew over the edge, escaping easier than I’d be able to. I put my left hand over my eyes so I wouldn’t have to look at Mom. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It was the worst.”

  She came up behind me and started stroking my hair. “You should have woken me up, honey.”

  My eyes started watering and I held back for as long as I could, until finally a sob broke forth and suddenly I was all out crying and not able to stop.

  My mother put her arms around my shoulders and gently kissed the top of my head. “Let it out, baby. You need to let it out. You’ve kept everything bottled up since the accident.”

  I stopped crying and pulled away. I just stared at her for a moment until it dawned on me. She thought I had dreamt of the accident. Of the past.

  “What’s wrong, honey? What’s the matter? You know I can’t help you unless you talk about it.”

  I got up from the chair and threw my arms around her. I didn’t matter that she kept harping on the past. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t there in the car with me when I needed her most. I had to stop blaming her. If she had been there, then she’d be dead too. And I couldn’t handle that.

  I didn’t want to tell her, but it was the only way. I had to start being honest no matter what. Then maybe she’d be honest with me too. Like the way we were before.

  “It wasn’t the accident,” I sobbed. “What I saw was the future.” This had to work. Maybe if she knew what was coming she’d be more aware and we’d be able to prevent it.

  “Like the fire? Is something else like that going to happen in town? Another fire?”

  So innocent. She didn’t have the nightmare filling her head the way it was filling mine. “No Mom, it’s a shooting,” The words oozed out but mingled with my sobs so I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.

  Her body stiffened and I watched her fear solidify. “At school? Did you see this happening at school?” She was afraid for the wrong reasons and for the wrong people. So typical Mom, once again afraid for me. Now I wasn’t so sure my telling her would do any good.

  “I don’t know where or when. I only know … it’s you, Mom. I saw you get shot.” As soon as the words emerged I completely fell into fits of sobs.

  For some strange reason she seemed to relax. I couldn’t though.

  “Oh, Salem, no honey, that’s not the future you’re seeing. Don’t be afraid. It’s normal when you lose one parent to be afraid of losing the other. I know because I’ve been there. When my father died…” She shook her head like she’d just gained some great insight.

  “My relationship with my mother changed after my father died. At first it was sort of the way you and I have been dancing around each other. We suffered apart rather than together. Then she came down with the flu and she seemed so sick I was sure I was going to lose her too. After that we were closer than ever. Now I know you’ve had some strange experiences lately, but what you had last night was just a bad dream.”

  “But you’re not psychic, Mom. That’s the difference. My sure is really sure. It’s not just a feeling.” I held on to her tighter hoping she’d believe me. What I wouldn’t give for it to be nothing more than a child’s nightmare.

  “I do believe you are psychic, obviously you’ve proved that. But not every bad dream is a premonition. And it’s normal for you to have dreams like that one now. Trust me.”

  There wasn’t any convincing her so I composed myself the best I could. “Just promise to be extra careful, okay?”

  “I will if you will.” She held up her little finger and we pinky promised. We hadn’t done that since I was a little kid and it was the closest we’d been in a long, long time.

  She thought it was a harmless dream. Only a dream and a vision were two entirely different things. I knew the distinction between them now. Knew it with a certainty.

  It was like looking at a math problem on a state test, the kind of problem you hadn’t learned yet. You knew there was a solution, but didn’t know how to go about figuring it out. Only this was one problem I had to find an answer to. I had to find a
way to save her. I just had to.

  ****

  To make matters worse drivers’ education classes started after school. Berkley and I sat together and she was so thrilled to be there, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my heart was breaking.

  She knew I wasn’t into it, but more than likely figured it had to have something to do with my dad’s death.

  They ended the class with a short film on accidents. I could feel my stomach turning. This was too much. This was the reason I didn’t want to do this. I closed my eyes and hoped the instructor wouldn’t notice with the lights shut off.

  When it ended Berkley whispered, “You okay?” as the lights came back on.

  Then the instructor did the unthinkable.

  “Anyone here ever been in an accident?” he asked, looking around the room for volunteers.

  A few people raised their hands. One blonde girl described a fender-bender focusing on the sound. She talked about the tires squealing, the metal crunching.

  Then a tough-looking guy described flipping over the hood of a car when he hit it with his dirt bike. As he spoke of it I felt my body begin to fly then the abrupt halt of the seat belt cutting in to me. “Daddy?” My own voice echoed in my memory. Terror grasped hold and increased as the silence stretched.

  “It was awesome,” the wannabe thug said with an ‘I’m so cool’ laugh jerking me out of my reverie.

  I wanted to hit him in the face for being so stupid and callous. He was making a mockery of the film, the class, of… of… Before I knew what I was doing I stood up fists balled at my sides.

  “I was in an accident last year. We were hit by a drunk driver and my dad was killed instantly.” The words came out in a rush and I took in a big gulp of air at the end of it.

  A hush stilled the room as I stood there recognizing feelings I’d never admitted to having. “Getting into a car is such a common everyday thing that you don’t think about it. You take it for granted when you step into a car that you’ll be stepping out of it the same way.”

  I stopped and took a long breath in through the nose. “I didn’t get to step out though, I had to be pulled out. The door was smashed in so they had to use the jaws of life. I thought it would break me in half and I thought I was going to…” My voice cracked and I stopped for a second to compose myself.