by D. S. Elstad
I sought sanctuary in the bathroom and took a long look in the mirror. I was curious as to how I had fared the wild weather. My hair was loose in spots but looked okay. And luckily, the little mascara I wore was still on; it hadn’t washed off leaving me with raccoon eyes. Not too bad, Wil, I thought.
I cleaned myself up and put on a change of clothes. As I looked in the mirror I realized how much I now cared about my appearance. I’d never been a slave to fashion and my idea of cosmetics had been Chapstick and eye drops. I took my hair out of the ponytail and shook it loose. My dark auburn locks were trying to frizz up on me again so I pulled out my hair straightener and anti-frizz smoother. Within a few minutes I was able to tame my mane.
I then studied my face and tried applying a bit more make-up. I brushed on a thin application of the mineral powder that Mom gave me at Christmas. I had only used it once before, when we took year-book pictures at school. The powder looked nice and natural…just my style. Next I added a small amount of bronze-colored lip gloss. Stepping back, I checked myself from all angles and felt satisfied…I managed to find the perfect blend of enhancements and the natural look that I wanted. While I stood there judging my superficial self, I heard a knock at the door.
“Want me to get that, Wil?” Dad asked, his voice nearing as he spoke.
“Yeah… please.” I quickly packed up my toiletries and checked myself one more time in the mirror. This was unchartered territory for me…to care this much about how I looked for a guy. I would laugh at my friends when they put so much effort into their appearance for a date. “Just be yourself,” I would tell them, and now, here I was, doing basically the same thing, foofooing in front of a mirror.
I heard the door open and the muffled conversation between Dad and Bram. Just hearing his voice brought back the butterflies in my stomach. I glanced in the mirror and took in a deep breath, squaring my shoulders before I turned the knob.
“You look great,” Bram whispered as we walked behind Dad on our way to the car. I looked up at him and smiled, his warm breath lingered on my face.
“Thanks,” I replied reaching up and smoothing my hair, hoping it would behave and not take on a life of its own. We rode in the back seat together with Dad as our chauffeur. It felt like I was a little kid with my daddy chaperoning my first date.
This time with Bram put everything else on the back burner. I hadn’t thought about Grandma or my dreams, or the forest or much of anything else for that matter. It occurred to me that I hadn’t even asked Dad how it went at the police department. Part of me didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to know, at least not right now. I was more than content to just be with Bram, talking to him, looking at him, and being near him.
Dinner was nice even with Dad sitting there. He seemed to be enjoying himself, which was good to see. Despite the differences in their ages, Dad and Bram discovered a common interest…golf. The only time my dad ever became animated in a conversation was if it had anything to do with golf. He loved the sport. He loved to play it, watch it, and talk about it. And this dinnertime conversation was monopolized by their shared hobby.
At one point Dad stopped interpreting for me and was having a silent chat with Bram. I watched them for a few minutes then tapped Dad’s hand. “What are you talking about?” I wondered, feeling a little left out.
“I asked Bram if he ever considered hearing aids or cochlear implants,” Dad replied, sharing with Bram.
“I know what hearing aids are, but what are cochlear implants?” I turned my attention from Dad to Bram.
“Implants are electronic surgical aids. Some people do well with them and regain some of their hearing. I’ve considered them but decided to give myself and the technology time. Hearing aids don’t work for me because I have very little hearing left,” Bram answered, tapping the outside of his ear.
“After I became deaf I discovered a whole new culture. Meeting other deaf people and seeing how they treat their deafness, not so much as a handicap but as a part of their life, helped me to accept my hearing loss, learn sign language, and become a part of that culture. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll look into implants, but for right now, I’m ok with the way things are.” Bram’s resilience was inspiring.
Dad signed, “Your parents must be very proud of you.”
Bram shrugged, “Well my da is. Mum left us a year after I went deaf. She swore my deafness didn’t have anything to do with it, but…” Bram lowered his gaze to his plate and moved the last bits of food around with his fork. I grabbed hold of his arm. He looked over and smirked. “It’s ok, I still see her every now and then when she’s in town. She moved to Dublin. Her job has her traveling a lot so…”
A long pause followed. “She’s missing out,” Dad said adamantly, spelling out each letter slowly.
Bram’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Dad. The look on my father’s face spoke volumes, without the need for explanation. He raised his eyebrows and patted the back of Bram’s hand. Bram nodded. How hard it must have been for him to not only deal with his deafness but a mother who walked out.
Dad signed for another minute, not letting me in on what he was saying. He didn’t need to. He took being a parent seriously – he’d never leave us, and neither would Mom for that matter, especially during a difficult time like Bram had been through. I sat there, realizing how lucky I was. After Dad finished signing, Bram nodded and grinned. “Thanks, Jack,” he said softly.
After a dessert of Irish Potato Pie, which didn’t really sound good but was delicious, we decided to stroll along the city streets. The storm that had passed through earlier in the day left the city feeling new and clean. Streetlights sparkled in the puddles as passersby greeted us with cheery salutations.
Bram reached out and laced his fingers through mine. It took me by surprise and I found myself staring at our hands as though they had been involved in some kind of crime.
“Ok?” Bram questioned, aware of my ambivalence.
I nodded. It was more than ok.
The rest of our time together as a trio was spent casually exploring the town of Killarney. Dad wanted to go into a pub called ‘The Black Deer’ to see if it was still owned by the same family. He had gone to school with the son of the original owner and at one time had been very good friends with him. Bram and I decided to sit on the bench outside and wait. He moved in closer, pulling my hand to his lap.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I answered looking into his eyes that now sparkled from all the surrounding lights. We sat and watched people passing by. It didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable, those moments of silence. It felt natural. Normally I’d feel the need to fill in quiet moments with idle chatter, but these didn’t need to be filled in with anything. They just were, and that was enough.
I was beginning to have powerful feelings for this “Irish lad,” as Dad had called him. What was I going to do with those feelings? I mean, I’d be going home soon. I hadn’t even thought about that; I’d have to say good-bye to Bram. That thought brought so much sadness to my heart. I looked over at him and it felt as though he was thinking the same thing. He leaned his head into mine. I reached my hand over and wrapped my arm through his.
“Willow….um, well, I don’t quite know how to say this,” he began, his voice almost trembling.
I looked at him questioningly, not quite sure what was coming.
“I know we’ve only known each other a short time, but…” his voice trailed off as he struggled for words.
I tilted my head in anticipation. He looked down and tightened his grip on my hand.
“The thing of it is…I, um –”
“What is it Bram? Please just say it.”
He nodded, “Willow, I’ve grown quite fond of you, never felt this strongly…” His face was lowered with his eyes focused on the sidewalk. “I hate the thought of you leaving.”
A flush came over his face as he turned to look me in the eye. My heart began pounding with the realization of what he had ju
st said. His words reflected the exact feelings I found myself struggling with. I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. At that moment, we were the only two people in the world, in the moonlight, on that bench, in the heart of Killarney, Ireland. I turned my head up to look into his eyes.
“Bram, I feel the same,” I made sure to say each word slowly and clearly. He smiled, leaned down and gently kissed my cheek. The whole world stopped. It was just us…nothing else mattered.
When Dad and I returned to the hotel I asked him about the meeting with the police. He told me that, so far, the police didn’t have much to go on, but they weren’t concerned. They felt this was a case that needed clarification as to the exact cause of Grandmas death. The lab results hadn’t come back so that information was still outstanding. I asked if Grandpa knew. Dad said no and that, as of now, the police didn’t think he needed to be told if Dad and Eagan felt it might distress him. They told him they would have the lab results in two days. He seemed ok with all of it, so I was too.
Sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed and turned. Images floated before my eyes and robbed me of much-needed slumber. When I did finally drift off my visions were of home, Mom, and my friends. In my dreams they kept fading from me while I reached out to them.
I got up one time and got a drink of water. I stood at the big picture window, with the curtains open, looking out onto the dark evening. I found myself wondering what Bram was doing, if he was having a hard time sleeping as well.
Lying back down on the soft pillow-top mattress my mind kept flashing onto the previous evening’s sunset. The colors swirled, intermixing reds and pinks and purples. And once again I found myself standing in the forest, in the middle of the clearing that was becoming far too familiar.
Long shadows brought about by the setting sun created abstract shapes as they landed on boulders and the needle covered ground. My own shadow gave way to a life separate from my being, changing shape as it made its way over obstacles dotting the forest floor. The breeze once again grabbed hold of orphaned leaves as they fell to earth and tossed them into the fading light of day. The sounds in the distance, grew closer and louder. The lower the sun sank, the more pronounced the sounds became. The departure of the day brought about the arrival of creatures of the night. I felt myself become one with the forest. I raised my arms and began to spin, slowly, an indistinguishable voice coming from my throat, chanting something ancient, something powerful.
A sliver of moonlight shone in the clearing where I stood spinning, chanting as I caught sight of the first of them. Then slowly, one by one, the brethren of the forest, the keepers of the woods, appeared. Each one took its place in the clearing, one to the north, one to the south, one to the east, and finally the large gray to the west. I stopped spinning and began my transformation. I stood in the center of the circle and in unison we sang the song of the night, the howls of unity, the cry of transformation; overhead, a screech pierced the darkness.
I found myself once again entangled in my web of sheets, pinning my legs until I sat up and freed them. My brow was sweaty and my mouth parched. I stood in the darkened room, lit only by the streetlights of town and a beam of moonlight. Staring out at the moon returned me to my dream momentarily until Dad gently shifted in his bed, which brought me back and reminded me where I was. I got another drink of water and sat in bed wondering what it all meant. Was there some kind of connection to everything? It all just seemed to be too random to make any sense.
I leaned back against the headboard, letting the darkness of the room envelope me. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to transport into the vision of the forest, to see if I could somehow conjure up some answers. The images returned quickly and easily at first, but soon disappeared. The last sight I could hold onto was of the gray wolf standing to what I somehow knew to be the west. That has to mean something, I surmised. But what?
Then I went ahead and let my heart take control of my brain…I no longer wanted to decipher images and sounds. I just wanted to think… about Bram.
Chapter Thirteen
Both Dad and I were sound asleep when the telephone rang. Dad jumped up, cleared his throat and answered with a gruff, “Hello?”
He listened, easing himself to the edge of the bed. “What does that mean exactly?” he asked with a definite edge to his voice. Holding the receiver with one hand, he used the other to rub his neck. He was getting agitated.
“I can be down there in fifteen minutes.” He rose from the bed, searching the room with his eyes. He grumbled, “Ok,” then hung up the receiver.
“What’s up, Dad?”
He made his way over to the dresser and grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled something. “I gotta go, Wil.” He took a change of clothes and went into the bathroom.
“What is it? Do you want me go with you?” I called out, sitting up in bed.
He didn’t answer until he came out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to leave. “I’ve got to go right now, I’ll fill you in when I get back,” he answered, sprinting to the door.
Before I realized it I’d positioned myself between him and the door. “Dad! What’s going on?”
He stopped and glared at me. “We’ll talk when I get back. I don’t have time to explain.”
I knew when to give my dad his space; this was one of those times. He was upset and adamant about going this second and going alone. But I could be just as stubborn, so before I moved from the doorway I grabbed his arm. “Just tell me, is it about Grandma?”
“Yes.” He glared and pushed past me out the door. Looking back he added, “I’ll be back soon, just stay here.”
I watched him make his way down the hallway and turn into the elevator before I closed the door. I looked out the window and saw him climb into the car and speed away. Obviously the call had come from the police. What could they have told him?
I found myself pacing back and forth trying to imagine what might be going on. The lab results must have shown something and it couldn’t be good. But what could it be, worst case…she was poisoned? I wondered. I finally decided to try and distract myself instead of making crazy assumptions with all the what-if’s so I went in and took a long shower. It helped a lot. I got dressed and went out for some breakfast, then came back to call Mom.
“Hello?” she answered on the third ring, her voice hoarse.
“Hi, Mom, you ok? Your voice sounds funny.”
“Willow! I’m fine, just sleeping; its two a.m. here, you know.”
“Oh, sorry, Mom. I’ll call back.”
“You will not!” she exclaimed. “We’ll talk now. It’s fine, honey.”
I sat down on the bed, getting myself in the best position for a long conversation. Whenever Mom and I were apart for any amount of time, we more than made up for it with long chats on the phone, but even those had become few and far between the last few days.
“I’d planned on calling you and Dad today,” Mom added. “I need to know how you both are and what’s going on there.”
“We’re doing ok, Mom, but Dad just got a call – from the police, I’m guessing. He ran out of here in a rush, told me to stay, that he’d explain everything when he got back.” I stretched out my legs and kicked off my shoes.
“Hmm, that’s curious. Any word yet on the investigation?” Mom asked. I could hear her shuffling around in the background and knew she was planting herself on the big overstuffed chair in the living room, her favorite spot to sit anytime she was on the phone.
“Dad met with them yesterday. They were still waiting for test results so they really didn’t tell him much of anything. Mom, what do you think might be going on, with Grandma, that is?”
“That’s hard to say honey, although it is strange that they have to investigate the death of a seventy-five-year-old woman who’d been ill. Any word on what led up to them deciding they needed to check things out?”
I leaned back against the headboard, feeling the vibration of a vacuum cleaner from the room next door. “No, that
’s the strange thing, Mom. I overheard Uncle Eagan’s housekeeper talking to someone and she said that Grandma wasn’t ill. That she’d seen her two days before she died and she was fine, no sign of being sick.”
Mom let out a heavy sigh. “This sounds even more serious than I imagined…how’s Blue taking it all? Is he ok?”
“I guess. You know Dad.”
There was a long silence in which I could picture Mom tapping her fingers on her chin, a habit she had when she was deep in thought. While I waited for her to respond I contemplated whether or not I should dump the rest of my news on her. Do I tell her about my change, for lack of a better term? Part of me was afraid to even mention it, feeling like if I did, that it would make it real. At the same time, there was no one else I’d rather confide in.
“I hate being so far away from you two, especially now with all of this going on,” she sighed.
“We miss you Mom, a lot.”
Now’s the time, I thought, just open your mouth and let it all spill out. Tell her about becoming the wolf, the dreams, or Ihan’bla or premonitions or whatever you want to call them. Tell her about the shadowy movement that’s appeared only to disappear as quickly as it showed up. Tell her how worried you are because now the dreams are different. And tell her about…Bram. I held my fingers up to my lips and began chewing my nails. The clicking sound of teeth against nail reverberated through the telephone across some five thousand miles and found a receiver in Mom’s ear canal.
“Willow, are you chewing your nails?” she asked accusingly.
I quickly wiped the moisture off my fingertips onto my jeans and answered, “No.”
“Aw, honey, it must be pretty tense for you to start ripping at your nails again.”
“There’s just a lot going on, Mom. I don’t even know where to begin trying to tell you about everything.” While I debated the best course of action my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and quickly read the text message:
