by R.E. Rowe
“Ames. Please. Your address.”
“Sorry.” I tell Reizo Uncle’s address.
He repeats it, then disconnects and hands me the cell phone. “They’re on the way.”
Uncle Pete appears from around the side of the house. “What in the world? Is everything okay?”
I cough. “Hi, Uncle.” My voice is strained. “This is my—” I try to clear my throat. “Friend.”
“Hi sir, I’m Reizo Rush. I just called 911.”
“911?”
“Yes, sir. They want her to take a baby aspirin.”
“I’ll go get her one,” he says, running into the house.
Reizo sits down next to me on the front porch swing. He puts an arm around my shoulder. Having him close feels like a dream. I realize how much I’ve missed him.
The pain eases slightly.
I breathe in his warmth when his hands touch my back.
“Hang in there,” he says. “You’re going to be okay, got it?”
I force a grin and nod. Tears stream down both cheeks. I’m not ready. I’m not ready, Grams, not yet. Please not yet.
Reizo kisses me on the cheek.
I focus my thoughts on his lips.
“You’ll be okay, Ames,” Reizo says. He kisses me again, but this time below my right ear. “You have to be.”
Uncle Pete runs out of the house with water and a baby aspirin.
I swallow it down as the paramedics approach.
“How you feeling now?” asks Uncle Pete.
I struggle to speak. “It hurts.”
The paramedics pull up and hit the brakes, sending a gravel cloud into the air. A man and a woman in blue paramedic uniforms run to me.
Reizo moves out of the way.
The paramedics begin connecting wires to my chest and put a blood pressure cuff around my arm. They ask questions about my history.
Reizo’s face goes pale. I feel uneasiness brewing like a thunderstorm. There's worry in his eyes, but it comforts me to know he cares. For a couple days, I thought he didn’t.
Before long, the paramedics have strapped me onto a stretcher and are pushing it up into their vehicle.
I hear Uncle Pete say, “Thank you, Reizo. I’ll ride back with Aimee and call her mother.”
Reizo waves as the doors shut and Uncle crawls in next to the paramedic.
I’m not ready to go back, Grams.
The siren blasts as the ambulance accelerates away.
chapter twenty-two
Watching the paramedics drive away with Aimee and her uncle is surreal.
I’d give her my heart if I could. Beautiful. Blue-eyes. Smiling Aimee.
“She’s going to die,” says Bouncer.
“Stop it,” says Honesti. “We should think positive.”
The voices debate the prospects for Aimee’s survival as I walk back to the pond. It’s not something I want to hear. “Shut the hell up!”
They ignore me and continue to ramble. Blood clot? Heart attack? Stroke? Something else? On and on they debate.
I walk as fast as I can to the pond. When I pass the oak trees, the voices go silent. Stillness grips the pond and the air feels heavy. I imagine crawdads lurking below the pond’s surface. Frogs burrowing under muddy rocks. But no matter what I try to imagine, it’s just not the same without her.
Aimee’s artwork looks frozen in time on her easel. Her empty lawn chair waits for her return. The new piece she painted looks beautiful—acrylic contrasted with chalk and oil, all shaped into a 3D waterfall and castle. Impressive. She learns fast.
As I sit in Aimee’s lawn chair, I’m filled with thoughts of her. The cute way she holds her head when I do something stupid, her perfect smile. She actually listens to what I have to say. She’s the first one to do that, besides my mom.
I notice a tackle box of oil colors, acrylics, and painting supplies open with a brush in a Mason jar full of water. Another brush balances across the Mason jar’s rim.
I’d give anything to have her next to me right now.
I carefully put her castle painting aside and take out a blank sheet. With a brush in my right hand and one in my left, I paint a white rose for innocence and a red rose for love. The brushes become extensions of my hands, flying like a hummingbird searching for a drink. It feels good to concentrate without two voices distracting me.
After thirty-minutes, I’m done, then carry everything to her uncle’s house.
I use another piece of paper to write my home phone number and a note in wildstyle, “Ames, Please be okay. REIZO.”
I pick up my rose masterpiece, kiss it gently, and then set it back down.
chapter twenty-three
Wire leads. IV needles. Oxygen tubes. Medical tests.
Time moves at a crawl as I count ceiling tiles of my hospital room and listen to the drone of a distant television. The burning in my nose from disinfectant ruins any desire I had for the wiggling orange gelatin on the table beside my bed. Instead, I sip tepid apple juice while I wait for test results in the boring place that’s become my temporary home.
“Would you like anything from the cafeteria?” Mom asks, handing me a new novel to read while retrieving my apple juice cup.
“No, thanks.” I turn to page one. Reading is what I need right now to escape my reality.
“I shouldn’t be too long.” Mom kisses me on the cheek and makes a quick exit.
Grams told me it’d be hard, but it just keeps getting harder. Worry lingers like a nagging cough. What will the doctor say? What does Reizo think about me now? I imagine the worst.
I do my best to ignore those thoughts by reliving the few moments I shared with Reizo. Thinking about the boy who colors the world. Tagging a yogurt shop after midnight. It’s the only thing that helps me tolerate the waiting.
After more tests yesterday, another day of waiting for results begins. With one hundred and ten ceiling tiles watching over me, seconds stretch into hours.
Then I feel an old familiar energy, and smell a blast of Old Spice cologne. I hear Uncle Pete’s cheerful voice. “Well hello there, Miss Aimee. You up for a visit from an old man this fine mornin’?”
My boredom instantly fades. I push myself to sit up and give him a big hug. “Hi, Uncle!”
I notice he’s holding a couple of papers as he drags a chair closer to my bed and sits.
“Sorry, dear, meant to bring this to you earlier. This painting was on the porch with a note. That friend of yours is quite the artist.”
My stomach spins when Uncle hands me a painting of two roses, one red and one white. A get-well message is above Reizo’s signature tag.
Uncle Pete chuckles. “Haven’t seen you smile so big in some time. When I first saw the painting, I had to put on my readers on. Dang if I didn’t think two roses was sittin’ on my doorstep. Reizo Rush, that’s the boy’s name, right?”
“Yeah, he goes to my school.”
“Been a lot of years since I knew someone with the last name Rush.” Uncle Pete gazes out the door of my hospital room. “A lot of years.”
Uncle turns his head slightly with one eye squinting, as if he’s looking through a telescope into my soul. “How long have you known the boy?”
“I’ve only gotten to know him over the last couple weeks. It’s strange though, I feel so close to him.” I cringe. I didn’t mean to add in that last part.
Uncle Pete smiles. “Oh, those were the days.” He hands me my cup of room temperature juice. “Young love.”
“Uncle, stop.” I reach over and push his shoulder, and then take a sip of juice.
He chuckles.
“Reizo told me he's related to Wesley Rush.”
Uncle’s eyes go wide. “The man I mentioned the other day?”
“Apparently.”
“Huh. I didn’t know any of Rush’s relatives still lived in Franklinville.” The wrinkles on Uncle’s forehead deepen. “The nurses tell us we’re darn lucky that Rush boy was with you...”
>
The room suddenly feels stifling.
“Reizo is my hero,” I mutter.
I hold up the rose painting. It’s amazing. Spectacular actually. Colorful. Two entangled roses pop off the page. “Dear Ames, Please be okay. REIZO.”
Sweat beads begin to accumulate along my hairline.
Uncle continues. “Some say Wesley’s son suffered from mental problems too right around the turn of the twentieth century. Might be genetic or some such thing.”
I take another sip of water, but I’m not thirsty.
Uncle clears his throat. “Does Reizo have any, um, problems?”
I gaze into Uncle Pete’s eyes. He’s only asking because he worries about me, but I don’t dare admit Reizo has a history. No way will I tell him how Reizo leveled our school mascot during freshman year, ranting about a grizzly. Or how Reizo talks to himself and hears voices. Not a chance. The Reizo I met at the pond doesn’t have those problems. He’s the boy who adds color to the gray. Reizo is the sanest person I know—cutest too.
I shake my head no and gaze at the roses. Warm goose bumps run over my skin as I think about him painting it for me.
Amazing.
“He left a note with his phone number on it,” Uncle says. “Seems pretty worried about you, dear. You might want to give your hero a call.”
I try to hide my grin. “Thanks, Uncle.”
Uncle Pete goes on to tell me about the ranch: how Aggie went to the pond looking for me, and how the rest of the animals on the ranch wonder when I’m coming home. Of course he’s exaggerating, but it makes me smile.
Before long, Mom returns. “Well, hello Pete.” She gives him a big hug.
“Aimee has her color back.” Uncle Pete glances at the painting. “That boy who saved her can sure paint, can’t he?”
I continue gazing at Reizo’s painting.
“He’s very talented indeed,” Mom says. “A hero too in my book.”
The doctor bursts through the door and his smile is the first clue that my luck might be changing. He takes my blood pressure. “Good. Well, good news. You did not have a heart attack. You experienced angina. All we need to do is adjust your medicine for now.”
Mom and Uncle both smile at the same time.
“So I just need different medicine?”
“Yes. That’s correct.” He pauses and takes a breath. “But I’m not going to sugar coat it. There is a chance you might need surgery in the near future.”
“Surgery? Why is that, doctor?” asks Mom.
“Well, Aimee’s two-year-old heart valve replacement may not be working at one-hundred percent. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’ll release you, but just make sure someone is with you at all times for the next few weeks. In case there’s another setback.”
It’s sort of good news.
When Uncle leaves and Mom goes down to the administrator’s office to check me out and pay the bill, I change into a clean blouse and jeans.
While I wait in the chair next to my bed for Mom to return, I re-read Reizo’s note and look at his phone number. Should I? My hands tremble. Then I remember how Grams encouraged me to live my life. I take out my cell and dial.
“Hello?”
Hearing Reizo’s voice is like drinking fresh lemonade on a hot summer day.
“Hi Reizo, this is Aimee.”
A pause. “Hey.”
“Thank you for the painting.”
“Oh, um, glad you like it.” Another pause. “How you feeling?”
My trembling gets worse as I hold the phone to my ear. I take a deep breath. “Better, thanks. The doctor told me I could go home today.”
Another pause. “Cool. That’s good to hear.”
The conversation feels awkward, but the vibe I get from him is caring. I stare at the roses. I want to see him. Mom will need to go back to work. With Hank working, I’m pretty sure I’ll be staying with Uncle during the day.
“I’ll probably be at my Uncle Pete’s house tomorrow if you want to stop by.”
Another pause. “Cool.” His voice breaks. “Sounds good.”
Silence.
I’ve never been good at talking to boys on the phone.
The nurse walks in talking, but stops when she notices I’m on the phone.
“I need to go,” I say. “Come by tomorrow if you can.”
Another pause. “I will,” he says softly.
“Bye.” I press end on my cell and stare at the phone.
“Let’s get you ready,” the nurse says, stacking my books and magazines. “From what I hear, you were sure lucky you called 911 when you did.”
I continue staring at the phone. “It wasn’t luck. A boy I know called for help.”
“Well, the boy is a hero. Saved your life. Remember now, if you feel pains again, call 911 right away. Don’t wait.”
I agree and thank her, along with the rest of the staff, as we leave the hospital.
On the way home, I plead with Mom to let me paint at the pond. Her answer is a solid no. She tells me there’s no way I’ll be allowed to paint alone. But after a good bit of convincing and a quick phone call to Uncle Pete, Mom agrees to let me stay at the ranch. Just like I thought she would.
Convincing Uncle Pete to let me go to the pond with Reizo will be way easier.
WELCOME TO THE CLOUD
Login: general
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From: Carmina
Reply-To: Ridiculous attempt to search for me
To: General
Subject: Your rules need to be upgraded
Dear General,
We can settle our war this lifetime. All I ask is for some simple rule changes. You must realize by now that relearning the same lessons each lifetime is a complete waste of time compared to a lifetime where a soul can remember the truth from birth.
Your reincarnation system has created a civilization that celebrates individual egos. It justifies like-minded egos to gather and convince each other their truth is virtuous, each group proclaiming their cause more just, and their birthright more important at the expense of innocent lives.
I simply ask for a few small changes: No more cause-and-effect impact from a bullying ego upon the lives of innocent men, women, and children. No more free will of selfish egos affecting innocent souls without immediate consequences such as termination of the bullying ego who had inflict pain upon one or more innocent souls. No more death of innocents caught in the crossfire between competing ego factions. No more suffering. Joy in physical form. Refined free will where choice impacts only the soul who makes the choice.
Please consider my demands or I will be forced to move forward with my plans against you. This time I will win. You will lose everything.
Warm Regards,
Carmina
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chapter twenty-four
I groan and turn over in my bed. Bouncer is a terrible alarm clock.
“Fire!” Bouncer shouts. “Fire. Fire. Fire. Did you hear me, kid?”
“That’s enough beauty rest for you,” says Honesti. “It only makes you more tired.”
“Get up,” Bouncer says. “Lazy sack of potato peels.”
“Shut the hell up!” I shout back.
Mom opens the bedroom door. “Is everything okay?”
The last thing I need is Mom staying home with me today.
“Sorry. Just a bad dream.”
She gives me a suspicious look. “Alright. I’m off to work. What’s on your agenda today?”
“Not much.” I roll over and squeeze my eyes shut.
“Nice tuck and rol
l boss man!” shouts Bouncer.
“Be nice to him,” says Honesti. “Use your inside voice.”
“Whatever,” Bouncer says. He’s in a total mood this morning.
“I said stop,” says Honesti.
I rub at my temples. It’s way too early for a headache.
“I’ll leave you some money,” Mom says. “Why don’t you go to the movies today? Get some popcorn and a soda. You know, enjoy your summer break?”
I sit up. Huh. A first. Mom has never given me money before, unless it was to grab a loaf of bread or buy a bus pass. “Mom? What’s going on?”
Mom smiles proudly. “They made me maintenance supervisor yesterday.”
It’s good news for a change. I’m relieved. “Congrats.”
“How exciting,” Honesti says.
“We should celebrate this weekend. Maybe I’ll bake lasagna.” She hugs me. “Try to have a good day, okay? I wish I could be here. But—well, just stay out of trouble.”
I know Mom really means it. If I screw up again, the cops will charge me with a parole violation, and the judge will revoke my probation. I’d get shipped to Willowgate with crazy Doc Stewart for a lot longer than I could tolerate—a fate worse than death. I hate Willowgate.
“Don’t worry,” I say.
Mom takes a deep breath and lets her shoulders relax. “I’ll be home around seven to cook you something before my night shift.”
“Are we spraying tonight?” asks Honesti.
“Why bother spraying?” says Bouncer. “He’s gonna die.”
“Would you stop,” says Honesti. “Please.”
Working two jobs to make ends meet sucks, but Mom does it without complaining.
“I wish you’d quit your night job.”
“I know. Me too. We’ll see. I need to go. Love you honey.”
She disappears out of my bedroom. A minute later, she’s out the front door.
I decide to visit JT at the hardware store before I go to see Aimee. It’ll give me the chance to exchange empties for more cans from the recycle bin.
I recover my stashed backpack from the bushes, then run to the hardware store to try and catch JT during his smoke break. I make it to the store before his break ends and find him smoking alone, outside the store.
The voices continue talking, but I keep focused. “Hey,” I say, taking off the backpack. “Now a good time?”
“Yo Z-man. What’s goin’ down?”
“I just thought I’d trade in some empties.”
“Sweet. I saved you some wild brights. The colors will pop on cement walls, brick even.” He pushes the last bit of a cigarette into the planter box filled with sand and crumpled butts. “Hang tight for a second.”