by Amanda Foote
We had all turned to look, but she was definitely pointing at me.
“You need a story,” she said, and smiled warmly.
I glanced around before replying, “Me? No, that’s okay. I don’t think we have the time.”
The woman waved us over. We approached her cozy little nook. “Your shoulders, they carry much. Your eyes, they have lost more than any of your friends here. Except for maybe this one,” she waved sweetly at Bliss, who giggled. She looked back at me, directly into my eyes, squinting. “I have a story for you.”
I turned to my friends. Liberty Bell shrugged and Bobby was nodding excitedly. “Alright,” I said. “Let’s hear it.” We sat down on her cushions and made ourselves comfortable, Bliss entertaining herself with the beads on the end of Bobby’s pillow.
The woman leaned forward. “I tell the same story every day. But today I tell a different story. This story is for you.” She took a deep breath. “It starts with a weed.”
The seed of a weed caught on the wind. The seed asked the wind if it would please let it be. “I am only a weed, please let me be!” She cried.
“I am carrying you to somewhere safe,” the wind assured the weed. “You will be okay.” The weed was not sure if the wind was telling the truth, but as the weed was still just a seed and had no choice, the seed let the wind carry her.
Thousands of miles the wind carried the seed, and every day the seed would ask the wind, “Where are we going?” The wind would only reply, “Somewhere safe.” Every now and then, a great rain would knock the seed from the wind’s grasp and the seed was certain it would drown. But after a time the rain would subside, the wind picked the seed up again and continued their journey. Finally, after months of traveling, the wind began to drop the seed. The seed had just started getting used to being with the wind, and begged the wind to let her stay.
“I’m sorry,” said the wind, “but you are home now. It is safe and you will like it. I must go now, but I will see you again.”
So the seed fell, for miles it seemed. When the seed finally landed, it fell upon a bed of soft grass. Majestic trees stood tall around her, and she realized that the wind had done as promised and taken her somewhere safe. The seed was not sure she would ever see the wind again, but every now and then she could hear him singing in the distance or see him tickling the treetops, and she knew that her friend was only taking care of everyone and would find time to see her when he could.
Sometimes under the cover of the trees it was hard to get sunlight, and the weed felt constantly shrouded in darkness. But over time, the rain that the seed was once so afraid of began to pour again, and often the rain felt so heavy, only this time the little weed knew the rain was helping her to grow, and grow, and grow, until one day the little seed realized it was not a weed at all, but a beautiful, resilient flower of the deepest color and the sharpest edges whose bloom put all of the blooms around her to shame. For the first time in a very long time, the seed that was no longer a seed felt inexplicably happy. But every day, she both longed for and dreaded the return of her oldest and dearest friend, the wind.
In the middle of the weed’s life, the tallest and oldest tree in the forest, which lived next to the weed, said to her, “I am getting very old and there is not much life left for me here. There are many nutrients left here in my bark, and I would be honored if you would take them from me and grow strong.”
“I can’t do that, then you will die,” said the weed.
“I am going to die anyway,” assured the tree. “Please. I have watched over you all this time since our friend the wind left you here. I have shaded you when the sun was too harsh and let it shine on you when you needed it most, I protected you from the worst of the rain and only let the perfect amount through. Allow me to lay down my life so that you may only continue to grow,” the tree insisted.
“If you’re sure,” the weed agreed.
And so the weed encroached upon the base of the massive tree with great trepidation, both worried to hurt the kind creature and hungry for the company and growth she offered her. And up she grew. For a long time, the weed and the tree were constant companions, as the weed spread its long stems around the tree’s width and fed off her nutrients, but mostly she thrived on the tree’s compassion and growing fondness for the weed. But the fateful day had arrived. “It is time for me to go,” the tree told the weed.
“But you can’t,” the weed cried. “I’ll die without you!”
“Don’t be silly,” the tree said. “You will live for many more years and you will drop seeds of your own and yes, someday you will die. But it will be a very long time and I will see you again when that day comes.”
Just as suddenly as he had left, the wind was upon the pair again. “My old friends,” he said with warmth and kindness. He caressed them both lovingly. The tree seemed happy to see the wind, not scared or worried about what lay ahead. As the wind pulled at the tree’s leaves, the weed felt him slipping away, pulled by the wind.
“No!” The weed shouted. “Don’t leave me!”
The wind caressed against her once more. “I will be back for you,” he promised, and he sped away, taking her closest friend with him.
The tree had been right, the weed lived on for many more years, dropping many seeds and making more friends with the trees and other blooms and creatures around her. It was many years later that she finally felt her own resolve slipping.
She could hear him before she could see him, whistling through the treetops of the young and fresh trees surrounding her, visiting his friends in various places. “My friend,” the weed called frailly. The wind approached her once more. His soft and peaceful voice greeted her.
“My friend, are you ready to move on to the next place? I have found a safe space for the tree’s daughter, I can take you there too!”
But after so many years, the weed had finally made a home. “I cannot,” she sighed. “But take one of my seeds, and they will keep the tree’s daughter company.”
The wind accepted the young seed sadly. “I’ll be back again someday,” the wind assured her.
The weed sighed. “I know,” she said, “and I’ll be waiting.”
Silence followed her story. We stared solemnly at her, both moved and surprised at how poignant and sad it was.
“It was a beautiful story,” I finally offered.
She smiled. “You were in it, mighty girl.”
I looked at her, confused. “I suppose… I’m a metaphor.” She nodded. I thought about her story, the weed and the wind and the sun and the tree and the rain. “Was I the wind?” I thought maybe I could be, because the wind was always taking care of everyone else, as it seemed I always was too. But Lomava shook her head.
“No. You are the weed.”
The others looked at me, and I looked at them. They both shrugged simultaneously. I turned back to her. “I don’t understand.”
She shook her head with a small laugh. “Dear child. The wind is the journey life takes us on, through childhood and into adulthood, and someday finally into old age. The wind has hold of me for many years, you see,” she laughed. “The rain is change, sometimes change can feel so heavy and so different that we feel like we are drowning, and sometimes change is the constant that is necessary for our growth. The tree represents the companions and loved ones we keep around us, those that help us to grow and who offer us unconditional love and support in exchange for our company, though sometimes they must leave us. And you, sweet girl, you are the weed.”
✽✽✽
Did you get it? It’s okay if you didn’t, because I didn't at first, either. Liberty Bell had to spell it out for me. I’m the weed. Weeds grow despite adversity, they bloom beautiful flowers with sharp edges. No matter how hard you try to keep them down, they keep pushing back, harder and stronger every time. They feed off their surroundings to grow. I’m the weed, and the weed is love. It makes sense if you don’t stare at it for too long. But it seemed so important then, like it changed every
thing. I could shoulder any burden, plow through any heartache. Because I was the weed, and that’s what weeds do. Like cancer, like love. They just keep growing, damn it all to hell.
Chapter Twelve.
We stopped for one more night in a motel before we reached Los Angeles, but we were all so exhausted that we went to bed straight after another Taco Bell dinner. Bobby was already snoring from the other bed and so was Bliss, from her playpen, when Liberty Bell whispered to me from the other side of our bed.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” I replied.
She sighed. “I know you miss her.” I turned toward her but I couldn’t see her face in the dark. “You’re angry that you lost a sister before you really got a chance to know her.” She was quiet for a minute, and I didn’t say anything either. “But,” she continued gently, “I can like, be your sister. If you want.” I think she felt me flinch because she followed with, “I know I can’t replace her. But I think I can give you what she could have given you. A friend, a shoulder, a confidante. But only if you want.”
I tried to remember what Cadence had told me. I push people away, because I think I’ll lose the people I love. I ignored the instant panic that had risen in my chest, that always shows up when someone admits they care about me as much as I care about them, and I reached out for Liberty Bell and clutched her hand.
“Yes,” I replied. “I would like that very much.”
✽✽✽
We pulled up to his house in the early afternoon. It was a big red house on a hill, with a few yards of space between it and its neighboring houses. Two stories. White door. Picket fence. He did say his dad was a lawyer, after all.
We parked, and the other two started to undo their seatbelts and get out, but I stopped them. “I have to go first. You can come in after.” They nodded, and I got out. The house itself was daunting, and reminded me of the one I grew up in, only a few miles from here. I resisted the urge to return to it, this time. Too many memories. Too soon.
I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
The woman who answered the door was most likely his step mom. She had long, beautiful blond hair that fell in a fishtail braid against her shoulder. There were streaks of purple in it, and her left arm was decorated with a half sleeve floral tattoo.
She gasped when she saw me, but there was a smile in it. “You’re Heaven,” she greeted me.
“I- yes. Yes, I’m Heaven.”
She squealed. “Oh man, I was really hoping you would magically show up. Life’s cool, isn’t it? Dillard’s in his studio, if you want to see him.”
“His studio?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she grinned. “Where he paints! I’ll show you.”
I followed her inside, wondering why Dillard had never told me he was a painter. The inside of the house looked just as expensive as the outside. “What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Julie,” she replied. “I'm Dillard’s soon-to-be step mom.” We passed the kitchen, where a man in a suit was just emerging, carrying a sandwich. “Babe, this,” here she pulled me out from behind her gently and presented me like a Christmas present, “is Heaven. You know, Heaven.”
He looked at me and nodded with a grunt and a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Heaven. I hear you convinced my son to go to art school.” He broke out in a huge grin, then. “It’s about time he stood up for what he believes in. I’m impressed. He’s in his studio now.”
I nodded. “Thank you… Sir.”
He laughed and walked away, taking a huge bite of his sandwich.
Julie waved me along deeper into the house, up a set of stairs and toward a back bedroom down the hallway. She knocked on the door. “Come in!” I heard him call. My heart started pounding as soon as I heard his voice.
Julie left me to open the door myself, whispering a quick good luck and squeezing my hand.
He didn’t even turn around when I opened the door. He was leaning over a large canvas on a table, splattered with deep blue and purple paint. I could see he was just starting the outline of a person, constellations and speckles like stars stretching out behind it and into the deep colors of the background. “What’s up?” He said.
I took a deep breath. “You didn’t tell me that you paint.”
He whipped around, shock and maybe a little anger on his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked calmly.
“I took a road trip,” I replied.
“By yourself?!” He asked incredulously.
“No,” I started to laugh, and then thought better of it. “Liberty Bell and Bobby and Bliss are all still in the car.”
“Oh,” is all he said.
“I want to try,” I blurted out.
His face changed, but I couldn’t interpret this one. “Try?”
“I want to try,” I repeated. “I said I didn’t because that would mean that I cared about something other than my parents, something other than Cadence, and it felt like if I had already moved on, I was forgetting about them, like their lives didn’t mean anything. But they didn’t raise me to think like that. I can love something new and it wouldn't mean I never loved them. It would only mean that they taught me how to love, how to be a person and care about things and express my love.” I took a deep breath. “And Dillard, I love you.”
He stood up straighter, and slowly began to step toward me.
I was so nervous, I blurted out the rest. “And I love Liberty Bell and Bobby and Marlene and Bliss and Rosebud, and I especially loved Cadence.” I was crying now, but I don’t think he minded.
He rushed toward me and pressed his lips to mine. He tasted like my salty tears, and I poured all my hurt into that kiss. I kissed him like I would never get to kiss him again, and I made a promise to myself that as long as we were together to only ever kiss him like it was the last kiss.
Chapter Thirteen.
Julie invited all of us to stay the night instead of finding a motel, and demanded we have dinner with them. I met Dillard’s siblings, a boy and a girl, who were very excited to meet me as well. Dillard gave Bobby and Liberty Bell a big hug, and congratulated Bobby. “That’s pretty cool, man. You’re gonna be a dad.”
“Heaven, will you stay here forever?” Dillard’s little brother Nicholos asked me, sitting next to me at the dinner table. He was six. He must have been so young when their mom died. Just two… The same age as Bliss. I bit back some tears and cleared my throat.
“No, sweetie. I have to go back home to Oklahoma.”
“Why?” He asked.
I sighed. I would get the ‘why’ questions soon enough from Bliss, I may as well learn how to work them. “Because I have to go back to my home. To my family.”
“Isn’t Dillard your family? And I’m his family, so that makes me your family too. So your family is already here.”
I scruffed up his hair. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I’ll miss you, though.”
“I’ll miss you too!” He said, suddenly thrusting up from his chair to hug me.
Julie laughed across the table. “Nicholos has found a new friend, I see!”
Dillard’s little sister Katie got up from the dinner table, with a few shouts of “Finish your dinner!” from Julie and Dillard’s dad Tom, and returned with a baby doll. She handed the doll to Bliss, who took it with wide excited eyes. “She can have my baby if she wants,” Katie offered. “I’m too old for her now.” She was only nine.
I glanced at Julie who was laughing under her breath, and said to Katie, “Thank you. I’m sure she will love her.”
“Heaven,” Tom asked, “how long will you be in California? Are you going straight back to Oklahoma after this?”
I smiled at him, a man with such friendly eyes that he had given to his son, and said, “No, actually. We’ll be extending our trip a little bit. I’ve got to go to Seattle to see an old friend of my sister’s.”
✽✽✽
Dillard offered to take us to the beach after dinner. Liberty Bell and Bobby had never been, so of course they
were ecstatic. I myself had very much missed the ocean in my time away, so I agreed as well.
It was just as I had left it, pristine and refreshingly blue after so much forest and flatland of Oklahoma. Not that Oklahoma wasn’t beautiful in its own right. Just… There was nothing quite like the ocean.
Liberty Bell and Bobby ran straight to the water and threw themselves in, while Dillard and I set out a towel and sat down on it. It was pretty chilly but I don’t think they cared much. They were too excited to meet the ocean for the first time.
Bliss played in the sand next to us, laughing every time she threw sand in the air. I sighed heavily. “You know we have to go back to Oklahoma eventually, right? Me and them.”
He glanced down, toying with the sand at the edge of the towel, running his fingers through it. “I know. But I was thinking, you know, I can study art history anywhere.”
“Is that so?” I smiled.
“Yeah,” he said, returning my smile with a bigger one. “I already know I got into OU. I applied earlier this year. Just in case,” he grinned sheepishly. “I think my credits will transfer if I move to Oklahoma next year.”
“You don’t have to,” I said, brushing sand off his arm. “We could make it work. Four years isn’t that long.” I was lying, of course. Four years felt like a lifetime these days.
He shrugged. “I want to. I was thinking it would be good to move away for a while from the place where my best friend died. And my mom, too, actually.” He looked up and brushed a stray hair away from my eyes. “And what better place than where you are?”
I kissed him. “I love you,” I said without pause. “It’s easier to say now.”
“Good, ‘cause I want to hear you say it a lot,” he grinned.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“And I love you,” he smiled. Bliss giggled a few feet away and we both looked over to her, still happily playing in the sand.
“Do you miss her?” he asked suddenly.
