UpSpark: A New Adult Inspirational Romance (The Five Elements Book 1)

by Nicole Wells

  Eventually, we circle back, return the boat, and linger at the boathouse for lunch. Jacob gets a turkey wrap and I'm in the mood for trying one of their large fancy salads. He adds a scone to the order, which we split. I find myself smiling at everyone I see — the cashier, the people milling around eating, anyone who catches my eye. I'd be a little embarrassed that someone might take me for flirting if I wasn't holding Jacob's hand, but I find I'm beyond embarrassment and self-consciousness.

  Lunch complete, we explore more, walking without a goal. I love the people who don't smile back at me, looking confused or scowling. I would say my heart forgives them, but there is nothing to forgive, just as I notice I can now embrace my own upsetting thoughts and forgive them. Like when I sometimes feel a flash of silliness for my naiveté towards Jacob's feelings, it's quickly followed by love. I remember the me that strived so much — to get into a good college, to do better, to not fall into the emotional traps my dad succumbed to, to be strong for my mom — and I enfold her with love, treasuring her. I remember feeling fear about my future, and I tell myself it's all okay, wrapping her up in light and love and understanding.

  I know it sounds so foreign, but it's like everyone is my friend. The elderly couple on the bench. The little boy arguing with his brother. The loud group of kids, daring each other about something. Even the birds, trees, squirrels, and turtles. Everyone has a light that my light wants to play with. Maybe it is flirting, after all. Nonpersonal, universal flirting with the world.

  Jacob and I carry on, together amidst all the people on the surrounding paths. I get my fill of sights, including a scenic view of the San Francisco bridge from an observation deck in a tall building clad in aged copper and quaint gardens tucked around corners. We could try to cover all the iconic sights of San Francisco today, but staying here, taking our time in this leisurely stroll, it's so us right now. It's perfect.

  Later, the sun hangs heavy and the brightness and busyness of the afternoon are dimming. It's past dinnertime, so we head back. Jacob puts together a simple meal while I pack. After dinner, we climb onto the rooftop deck. Cushioned by blankets and cradled by Jacob, I watch dusk ebb into night. Crickets chirp for their mates, and the stars shine light from years long passed. We sit in silence until the cold grows uncomfortable. Heading back into bed, an owl hoots a mournful goodbye.

  We are bundled in the queen bed, but I cannot sleep. I'm not nervous about my flight tomorrow; I don't even know the emotions I feel per se, just that I feel strongly. This moment feels so full of significance, a pregnant pause in my life.

  I lie awake, feeling it all, just being with it. I listen to his breathing. Eventually, I am lulled to that weird state of in-between. Neither awake nor asleep, my detached mind noting the ever-present stars and lightning in my vision, a storm brewing.

  I don't know how long I drift here until a vision erupts, shocking me into awareness. There is a bright light, loud wrenching noises, and excruciating pain everywhere in my body. But it's when I hear Jacob scream in the vision, in mortal agony, and realize he's there too, that pain rips through my soul.

  My entire body pulses and I jerk awake. I can only gasp for air for a few minutes while my heart pounds. I keep hearing Jacob’s scream. It echoes in my mind and I put my fist in my mouth, silencing my own scream.

  I grip the sheets, and cling to their reality as my body and mind slowly come to realize the danger has passed.

  It was just a dream. My mind is trying to convince me, but my heart won’t let me believe.

  That was no dream.

  It was too real.

  A deep knowing settles in my bones. I just can’t deny it anymore.

  I flatten my hands against the sheets, my head shaking back and forth of its own accord, like that can make it all untrue.

  I pull my hands to my heart, and curl over them, rocking back and forth. Faced with this life or death, I can no longer ignore the significance of my visions. Whatever they are, wherever they came from, they are real.

  They are true.

  I bite my fist in a silent scream and continue rocking back and forth, like a little child trying to console herself. A lifetime of training could not keep me in the present moment as I grapple with this fear.

  I look over at Jacob, still asleep. His face is turned towards me, a peaceful contrast to the violence of my vision.

  I want to wake him and tell him. He would know what to do. But deep down I know there is no fixing this. He could either not believe me or he would believe me and risk it or he would believe me and break up with me. Of the three options, I can only see him believing me, and still loving me. Godammit, that I can see it all now, how much he does love me, has always loved me. Double damn, that I love him so much too.

  If I stay away from him, the vision cannot come true. If we are never together, it cannot come to pass.

  I reach out and touch him, tracing his dark eyebrows, down his high cheekbones. He will do amazing things. I believe in him, his brilliance, determination, and kindness. His people need him.

  His eyes twitch, conveying he's in a realm I cannot reach. I rest my hand on his face, the place where tears are trailing down on mine.

  In the night, in the dark, I reaffirm that there is only one way to be sure. He was with me in the vision. If he’s not with me — if I stay away — then what I saw can’t happen. I’ll do whatever it takes to spare him. It kills me, but this thing between us is still fresh enough. I can break it off with him, for his own good, if that’s what it takes to save his life. I love him, and sometimes true love requires great sacrifice.

  I try to console myself. Even if my premonition is not right, I can only offer heartbreak in the long run. Stage V, Grace, I recall. This is the noble thing to do. It is the most noble thing, and he deserves that.

  I kiss him gently on his forehead, and lay back down next to him. I wrap my arms around him and hope his shirt dries from my tears before he wakes. I wont watch the clock as dawn creeps closer. I’ll soak up these last moments and make them last, until I know he’s safe or until I have a better plan. I’m resigned to my own death, but I’ll be damned if I take him with me.

  I think about the flashing lights I've been seeing and doubt creeps in. What if that is a sign of early onset? I resolve to see a genetic specialist. Once I'm back home.

  As if my thoughts are a physical thing, they race to the East and my life before, bursting the magical iridescent bubble of our new world, our beautiful love.

  chapter 19

  “NO, ENYA, this is non-negotiable!” My mom is standing in front of me, framed by the doorway. I’m sitting on my bed facing her, so she is towering over me.

  “Umm, I’m pretty sure you don’t get to decide.” I’m trying to stay reasonable, and point out the obvious, but it's hard not to yell back. We’re reverting to our well-established roles.

  My mom also looks like she’s trying to hold back. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, like she’s a saint and I’m trying her patience. Like she always does. It triggers roiling anger in me. I’m the one with the terminal diagnosis!

  “Look,” she says, in a deceptively calm voice, “you’re right. You’re eighteen and I can’t control you. But if you are going to live in this house, and eat food that I work for and buy, then you are going to see a doctor. I’m not arguing about this. I’m telling you. I will have a moving company come and take all your stuff to a shelter. I will call the family and tell them not to harbor you. Don’t think you’ll have it easy like Yasmin. What I’m asking you to do is reasonable. It’s what’s best for you.”

  I’m so shocked, I sputter. “Wha…? Are you serious?” She looks at me, steely eyed with a backbone to match. “Are. You. Serious?!” She starts to talk, and I can tell she’s not going to rescind what she said, so I cut her off, “Dad would never do this!” I shout over her. “You’re not even listening to me! I told you the visions are real!” She’s coming closer to me, like that would help me hear her yelling, and I brush past h
er, out the door.

  I’m fuming, and I don’t know where to go, but I’ve got to get out. I start running down the street, just needing to move. I wish Yasmin was still here, I could jog to her house. I’m raw with my need for Jacob, and I wish with all my heart that I could talk to him. I’ve been an absolute emotional wreck since I got home four months ago, and of course my mom thinks it could be the Huntington’s. Finally telling her about the visions, trying to open up and bond, was definitely the wrong thing to do. Thank god I haven’t told her about Jacob.

  I find myself headed to the neighborhood park. Good, I need that solitude to get a grip on things. I’m so damn wounded. Go ahead, kick me while I’m down, Mom. I’m not in college. I only have a high school degree, Mom. You want me to go get a minimum wage job and see how well I support myself? Yeah, thanks for all that talk about whatever I needed, and taking my time to sort through it all. Part of me wants to take her up on her threat. But I’m also mature enough to recognize spite when I see it, even if it is my own.

  It’s the same part that recognizes that she’s just scared, that she’s just trying to do what she thinks is best for me.

  But it doesn’t help me feel any better. It doesn’t help me feel loved. It doesn’t plug the hole in my heart.

  I reach the entrance to the park and leap over the curb onto the asphalt path. It feels like every single support I had is gone, every bridge has been burned.

  I run until I spot a boulder a ways off the path. I perch on it, and try to regain my equanimity, but even the support of my meditations is going up in flames. I give in to the sobs that want to come out. I don’t know how long I cry, but I eventually face the inevitable. My mom knew it as soon as she said it; I have no choice. I’m going to see the doctor. That in itself is not such a big deal; I had considered it before. It’s that she wouldn’t listen to me. It’s that she’s forcing me.

  I whisper to the trees, telling them what I’d want to say to Mom if I could, “You know the worst thing about Huntington’s? It's the loss of control. The loss of choice. The loss of independence.” I brush the back of my sleeve against my face. No matter how much I cry these days, the tears keep coming. I guess on the bright side at least there’s one part of me that’s not broken.

  “It’s the loss of dignity.”

  ——— ———

  “HI. I’M DR. ANDREWS. And you must be Enya.” I don’t have time to reply before he’s looking back down at his tablet, but he smiled, so that’s a start.

  “Thank you so much for squeezing us in. I know you’re incredibly booked out. You come so highly recommended. Dr. Yee said you were one of the top experts on Huntington’s in the nation.” My mom is with me this time, of course, to hear it all first person, and apparently to gush at the doctor. She’s convinced I’m losing my mind, and I doubt she would trust what I say. I try to cut her some slack and think of what she must have gone through with Dad. I try, at least.

  “Yes, well, there was a cancellation. I’m glad you could make it on short notice.” He doesn’t sound glad. He sounds like he’s good at reciting platitudes to me. But my thoughts pause as he turns to me, “I’ve reviewed your case, and I want to say, it would be rare for you to be manifesting Huntington’s symptoms so early. Not impossible, just rare. There is an early onset form called Juvenile Huntington’s. And you can have onset earlier with ‘anticipation.’ But most likely it’s nothing. It’s common for people to worry they are having symptoms.” He looks down at the tablet again, taking a few minutes, just scrolling. I thought he said he reviewed my case already?

  “I see you’ve been having some hallucinations?” he says as he looks up, both eyebrows raised. I cringe, and wish for the umpteenth time that I never told my mom anything. “Yes, I guess? Honestly, I feel fine. I don't really want to talk about them.”

  “Okay. I see.” I expect him to push it, but he just scans his tablet, “And you’ve been having panic attacks? Short tempered? Crying jags? Insomnia?” I try not to glare at my mom, who insisted on filling out some paperwork too.

  “I worry about my future. But I wouldn’t call them panic attacks. I don’t let it get the best of me. I meditate. A lot. It helps.” He nods, like he understands, but I can tell he doesn’t.

  He turns to my mom, “Have you noticed any significant personality changes?”

  My mom looks at me, like she’s sorry and guilty all at the same time. It’s not past tense yet though, she hasn't said anything, and I’m irate with her all over again. Choose one, Mom. Either you’re really sorry so you don’t throw me under the bus or you’re guilty and you do.

  “Well, she went on this road trip—”

  “Wait, was it an impulsive decision?” He looks up from taking notes on his tablet.

  “Actually, yes, I—”

  “Hmm. Okay. Go on.” He implores, deceptively calm and aloof.

  “Well, a few days into the road trip, and she sounded like a different person. She was so happy. Like, I didn’t even recognize her. I thought it was a good thing. She said she found her peace.” My mom is practically wringing her hands at his presumed disapproval.

  “When was this?”

  “Oh, during the beginning of summer, not long after she got her diagnosis.”

  “Hmm. Okay, and then what happened?” He keeps his eyes trained on her.

  “Well, it was only two weeks, but when she got home, she was absolutely despondent.” Her forehead is scrunched, and she looks glad to confide in someone.

  “Hmm. Okay, and then what happened?”

  “Well, it was only two weeks, and when she got home, she was absolutely despondent.”

  “How so?”

  “Like the questionnaire. She’d get upset really easy. She’d mope around the house. She’d be mad for no good reason. And she’s been obsessed with meditating. Like, she does it five times a day!”

  I want to say something in my defense, but everything she’s said is true.

  “Did she have any interest in meditating before this?”

  “No, that came out of the blue too, just like the road trip.”

  “Mom,” I finally interrupt, “I told you. It helps me.”

  She turns to me, “But why do you need help? You need to realize that maybe there’s something wrong.” She reaches out to me, holds my hand. I want to shake it off. “Honey, I’m your mom. I can tell there’s something wrong.”

  I turn to the doctor, “Look there’s an explanation for everything, but I’d like to talk in private.”

  “Of course. Let me just ask one more thing before your mom goes, okay?” He doesn’t wait for my reply, just turns to Mom like I’m not even there, “Tell me about the ‘sparks’.”

  When we get home, I go straight up to my room. I stay there through dinner. My mom probably thinks I’m just sulking, and maybe I am. I know I should text Yasmin, but just the thought reminds me of her new college life, and all her exciting adventures, and how she’s moving on.

  I wish I could reach out to Jacob, but I don’t let myself. I found out from a run-in with his mom that he’s super busy trying to do a double major, so they are going to visit him for winter break. I’m relieved and disappointed at the same time. I just want to see him, no matter how much it will hurt. But I’ll just focus on being thankful for the news that he is alive and doing well.

  It’s two a.m. and I’m still awake. I haven't bothered to turn on any lights. It’s always worse at night. I’m laying on the floor, my gray chevron duvet pulled from the bed. It’s so stupid; I’m so stupid. I should at least get up and go to bed. But my rock collection is here. I go through my rocks, one by one, reliving the memories like worrying a painful tooth. I cradle the rocks, my only connection to the boy who became my rock, my foundation. I don’t doubt that I made the right choice, but oh, how I wish it could be otherwise.

  I curl up, holding the large rock from the beach close to my chest, and cry.

  The doctor did make some really good points. It’s probably not Hunt
ington’s, but it could be. If it’s not, it’s still worrisome. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I’ve lost the objectivity to be able to tell. There’s a seed of doubt now. When did I get pitted against reason and science? Am I being unreasonable? Is that a sign itself of my brain’s slide into decay?

  I do believe my visions are real, though. And I still believe in myself, and the me I found out west. At the same time, I feel like it’s all too much. It’s too much to keep meditating for peace that isn’t there. It’s too much to try to stay in the present moment. It’s too much to have visions. It’s too much to figure out a new future. It’s too much to not have my friends anymore, to not have my dad, to be alienated from my mom. I can’t do this alone. Are all my symptoms reasonable reactions to this, or is it something more?

  I exhale harshly, mad at myself, mad at life. I honestly don’t want to go on. What does the future hold for me?

  For a moment, I am tempted. I dally with the idea. I could just end it.

  But, no. I can’t, really. In some ways it's a relief to know I’m not like my dad. But instead of a way out, I feel trapped now in a life with no joy. Just like I’ll one day feel trapped in a body that's broken, and trapped by a mind that's forgotten how to work.

  I cry without restraint, allowing myself this moment to really just be me, just as I am.

  ——— ———

  “GOOD NEWS! All the tests came back normal!” Dr. Andrews doesn’t bother saying “Hi” this time. It's a month and a half later. He really is in demand. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if I’d really had a problem. Even just getting the tests had me starting to question myself. I mean, I have been emotional and unreasonable, right? Seeing a doctor is reasonable, so why was I so resistant to it all of a sudden? My mom made a lot of convincing arguments, and I didn’t really have any rebuttal.